THE  PLAYS  OF 
HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 

B  Drama  in  four  Bets 


BY 


HENRY   ARTHUR   JONES 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY  HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES 


PRICE  50  CENTS 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30  WEST  38TH  STREET 


LONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  LTD. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET, 

STRAND 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


A  DRAMA   IN   FOUR  ACTS 


BT 

HENRY   ARTHUR  JONES 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY  HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES 


CAUTION— This  play  is  fully  protected  under  the  copyright  lawf 
of  the  United  States,  is  subject  to  royalty,  and  any  one  pre- 
senting the  play  without  the  consent  or  the  author  or  his 
agents,  will  be  liable  to  penalty  under  the  law.  All  applications 
for  amateur  performances  must  be  made  to  SAMUEL  FRENCH, 
28-30  West  s8th  Street,  New  York  City. 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30  WEST  38TH  STREET 


LONDON 
SAMUEL  FRENCH,  LTD. 

36  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET, 
STRAND 


To  H.    BEERBOHM  TREE 


My  dear  Tree: 

In  sending  the  sheets  of  "THE  DANCING 
GIRL"  through  the  press,  I  am  forcibly  reminded 
that  the  English  drama  has  not  remained  stationary 
in  the  sixteen  years  that  have  passed  since  your  pro- 
duction of  this  play. 

I  may  perhaps  be  alloived  to  put  your  name  on 
its  first  page,  and  to  thank  you  for  your  most  attract- 
ive impersonation  of  the  Duke  of  Guisebury,  and  for 
your  admirable  stage  management — especially  for 
your  striking  arrangement  of  the  end  of  the  third  act. 

Faithfully  yours, 

HENRT ARTHUR  JONES 

Afril,  1907 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

THE  DUKE  OF  GUISEBURY. 
THE  HON.  REGINALD  SLINGSBY. 
DAVID  IVES. 
JOHN  CHRISTISON. 
MR.  CRAKE,  the  Duke's  land  agent. 
GOLDSPINK,  the  Duke's  valet. 
CAFFAIN  STEPHEN  LEDDRA. 
STEPHEN  LEDDRA,  his  son,  a  child. 
MR.  AUGUSTUS  CHEEVERS. 
LORD  MAITLAND. 
LORD  BRISLINGTON. 
SIR  HENRY  DRYSDALE. 
SIR  LIONEL  BALDWIN. 
MR.  AUGUSTUS  ANSTRUTHER. 
MR.  VANSTONE. 
SlGNOR  PONIATOWSKI. 
CHARLES,  a  footman. 
JAMES,  a  footman. 
DRUSILLA  IVES. 
FAITH  IVES. 
SIBYL  CRAKE. 

LADY  BAWTRY,  the  Duke's  aunt 
MRS.  CHRISTISON. 
MRS.  LEDDRA. 
SISTER  BEATRICE. 
LADY  POPEROACH. 
ISABEL  POPEROACH. 
LADY  BRISLINGTON. 
LADY  MAITLAND. 
LADY  BALDWIN. 
Miss  BALDWIN. 
Miss  ANSTRUTHER. 

FISHERMEN,  TENANTS,  VILLAGERS,  GUESTS,  CHILDREN,  ETC. 

3 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 

ACT  I. 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  PAGAN.    SCENE— The  Islt  P*  Endellion. 
(Two  years  pass  between  Acts  i  ana  i.) 

ACT  II. 
SCENE — Diana  Valrose's  Boudoir  at  Richmond. 

(Six  months  pass  between  Acts  2  and  3.) 

ACT  III. 

THE  LAST  FEAST.     SCENE — Reception-room  at  the  Duke  of 
Guisebury's  town  house,  St.  James'  Park. 

(Two  years  pass  between  Acts  j  and  4.) 

ACT   IV. 
Same  scene  as  Act  I. 


The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  playbill  of  the  first  perform- 
ance of  "  The  Dancing  Girl"  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  London. 

THURSDAY.  JANUARY  l.VTH.  J891 

At  8  o'Clock,  a  New  and  Original  Play  of  Modern  English  Life,  in 
Four  Acts,  entitled 

THE    DANCING    GIRL 

BY  HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES. 

THE  DUKE  OF  GUISEBURY Mr.  Tree. 

HON.  REGINALD  SLINGSBY Mr.  F.  Kerr. 

AUGUSTUS  CHEEVERS Mr.  Batson. 

DAVID  IVES Mr.  Fernandez. 

JOHN  CHRISTISON Mr.  Fred  Terry. 

MR.  CRAKE Mr.  Allan. 

Mr.  GOLDSPINK Mr.  Robb  Harwood. 

CAPTAIN  LEDDRA Mr.  Charles  Hudson. 

CHARLES Mr.  Leith. 

LADY  BAWTRY Miss  Rose  Leclercq. 

LADY  BRISLINGTON Miss  Adelaide  Gunn. 

SYBIL  CRAKE Miss  Norreys. 

DRUSILLA  IVES Miss  Julia  Neilson. 

FAITH  IvES Miss  Blanche  Horlock. 

MRS.  CHRISTISON. Miss  Ayrtoun. 

MRS.  LEDDRA Mrs.  E.  H.  Brooke. 

SISTER  BEATRICE Miss  Hethcote. 

SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENERY. 

ACT     I.  THE  BEAUTIFUL  PAGAN. 

SCENE.  The  Isle  of  St.  Endellion. 
Fifteen  months  pass. 

ACT    II.  THE  BROKEN  BOWL. 

SCENE.  Villa  at  Richmond. 

ACT  III.  THE  LAST  FEAST. 

SCENE.  Guisebury  House,  Saint  James's  Park. 
Two  years  pass. 

ACT  IV.  THE  DESIRED  HAVEN. 

SCENE.  The  Isle  of  St.  Endellion. 
5 


The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  playbill  of  the  first 

performance  of  "  The  Dancing  Girl'1'1  at  the 

Lyceum  Theatre,  Netv  York 

New  York  Theatre  Co Proprietors 

Daniel  Frohman Manager 

WEEK  COMMENCING  MONDAY,  AUGUST  31st,  1891 
Evenings  8.15  Matinees  Wed.  and  Sat.  at  2 

Fifth  Annual  Engagement  (under  the  Management  of 
DANIEL  FROHMAN)  of 

E.  H.  SOTHERN 

In  the  New  and  Original   Play  of  Modern   English    Life,  in 
Four  Acts,  entitled 

THE  DANCING  GIRL 

By  HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES 

THE  DUKE  OF  GUISEBURY  (VALENTINE  DANECOURT) 

E.   H.  SOTHERN 

HON.  REGINALD  SLINGSBY Morton  Selten 

DAVID  IVES ....  Harry  Eytinge 

JOHN  CHRISTISON . .  .Wright  Huntington 

MR.  CRAKE Rowland  Buckstone 

STEPHEN  GRAUNT H.  W.  Montgomery 

GOLDSPINK , Tully  Marshall 

AUGUSTUS  CHEEVERS    L.  Clarke 

CHARLES Frank  Leiden 

CAPT.  LEDDRA W.  H.  Pope 

HERR  PONIATOUSKI Mr.  Montgomery 

DRUSILLA  IVES Virginia  Harned 

FAITH  IVES Bessie  Tyree 

SYBIL  CRAKE  (MIDGE) Jennie  Dunbar 

LADY  BAWTRY Mrs. Kate  Pattison-Selten 

LADY  BRISLINGTON Mary  Elliott 

LADY  POPEROACH Miss  Hern 

MRS.  CHRISTISON Mrs.  Josephine  Laurens 

MRS.  LEDDRA Mrs.  Lauer 

MRS.  GRAUNT Clara  Daymer 

SISTER  BEATRICE Blanche  Weaver 

ACT    I.   THE  BEAUTIFUL  PAGAN. 

SCENE.    The  Isle  of  St.  Endellion  (Sicily  Islands) 

(Fifteen  months  pass) 
ACT  II.    THE  BROKEN  BOWL 

SCENE.    Villa  at  Richmond 
ACT  III.    THE  LAST  FEAST 

SCENE.    Guisebury  House,  St.  James'  Park,  London 

(Two  years  pass) 
ACT  IV.    The  Desired  Haven 

SCENE.    The  Isle  of  St.  Endellion 


ACT  I. 

SCENE.  The  Island  of  Saint  Endellion,  off  the  Cornish 
Coast.  At  the  back  is  a  line  of  low  rocks,  and  beyond,  the 
sea.  A  pathway  leads  through  the  rocks  down  to  the  sea. 
On  the  right  side  of  the  stage  is  the  Quakers'  meeting- 
house, a  plain  square  granite  building,  showing  a  door 
and  two  windows.  The  meeting-house  is  built  on  a  low 
insular  rock  that  rises  some  three  or  four  feet  above  the 
stage  ;  it  is  approached  by  pathways,  leading  up  from  the 
stage.  On  the  left  side  of  the  stage,  down  towards  the 
audience,  is  David  Ives's  house ;  another  plain  granite 
building,  with  a  door  down  stage,  and  above  the  door,  a 
window.  The  house  is  built  into  a  cliff  that  rises  above  it. 
Beyond  the  house,  is  a  pathway  that  leads  up  the  cliff  and 
disappears  amongst  the  rocks  on  the  left  side  towards  the 
centre  of  the  stage,  a  little  to  the  right  is  a  piece  of  rock 
rising  about  two  feet  from  the  stage. 

Time,  an  Autumn  evening. 


I.  Call. 

John  Chriati* 
ton. 

Faith  Ive.s. 
David  Ives. 
Drusilla  Ivet. 


ACT  I. 


Back  Cloth  Representing  Sealine 


Low  Rock  Pieces  2  to  3  Feet  High 


Kock  Pieces    j;§- 
Jt.S~ 

vm-7 


Eight 


Left 


rACT  I. 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  PAGAN. 

SCENE  : — The  Isle  of  Endellion. 

[JOHN  CHRISTISON  discovered  looking  in  at 
the  window  of  DAVID'S  house* 

JOHN.2 

Thou  miracle  of  grace  and  beauty!  Thou  one  de- 
sire of  my  heart !  No !  3  Grant  me  this,  that  loving 
her  so  much  I  may  ever  love  Thee  more !  Grant  me 
that  she  may  never  come  betwixt  my  soul  and  Thee ! 

[Enter  FAITH  from  house*  She  is  in 
Quaker  dress;  about  twenty,  very 
modest,  pleased,  timid.]5 

FAITH.6 

You  have  left  work  early  to-day,  John? 

JOHN.7 

I  can't  work.  These  last  few  weeks  my  thoughts 
go  astray,  my  hands  rebel  against  me.8  My  body's 
down  there  at  the  breakwater,  but  my  heart  and 
spirit  and  soul  are  here — here  in  your  house,  Faith. 


John! 


[FAITH  pleased,  trembling,  turns  her  head 
aside.]  9 


Sunset  Effect 
as  Curtain 
Rises. 


Music  Andante 
till  Curtain 
up. 


1  L.  back  to  au- 
dience. 


8  Turns   round 
to  audience  ; 
speaks  very 
fervently. 


*  Faith    enters 
from     house 
crossing     c., 
she.  sees  John 
L.  and  stops 
c. 

*  c. 

7  L.  turning  R. 


•  Coming  to- 
wards her  to 
L.  c. 


•  Towards 
right. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Coming       to- 
wards her. 


*  Glances  at 
him  with  one 
keen  look. 


•  Down  stage  R. 


•o. 


•R.  c. 


»a 


JOHN.1 

Is  there  any  hope  for  me?     Does  she  ever  speak  of 


me? 

She?2 

Drusilla. 


FAITH. 
JOHN. 


[FAITH  turns  quickly  away  from  him?  hides 
her  face  from  him;  after  an  effort, 
speaks  in  a  quiet,  unmoved  tone.] 

FAITH.4 

How  long  have  you  loved  her  ? 

JOHN.5 

Ever  since  she  came  back  from  London. 

FAITH. 
Three  weeks. 

JOHN. 

It's  seven  years  if  you  measure  it  by  the  love  I've 
loved  her  with. 

[DRUSILLA  passes  the  window  inside  cot- 
tage. FAITH  takes  off  a  white  silk 
scarf  she  has  been  wearing  round  neck, 
and  after  a  struggle,  kisses  it;  then 
hiding  her  feeling  so  far  as  she  can, 
gives  it  to  him.] 

FAITH.6 

John,  I've  been  forgetting  all  this  while — this  hand- 
kerchief has  been  a  sore  temptation  to  me  since  you 
gave  it  to  me 

JOHN.7 

Nay,  it's  harmless. 

FAITH. 

Nay,  I'm  inclined  to  gauds  and  finery.     Indeed  my 
10 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  I 


heart  is  full  of  vain  thoughts.  Take  it  back,  John. 
You  would  not  have  it  lead  me  away  from  heavenly 
things. 

JOHN. 
What  can  I  do  with  it  ?     It's  a  woman's  belongings. 

FAITH. 

Give  it  to  Drusilla.  She  is  more  staid  and  thought- 
ful than  I  am.  [Very  fervently.}  I  hope  she  will 
love  thee.  Indeed  she  shall !  It  will  be  pleasant  to 
have  thee  for  a  brother.  Stay  here !  I'll  bring  her 
to  thee. 


[FAITH  runs  into  the  house.  DAVID  IVES,  a 
Quaker,  about  fifty,  comes  on.1  JOHN 
is  looking  into  cottage,  he  puts  hand- 
kerchief into  his  pocket.] 

DAVID.2 

You've  come  early  to  week-night  meeting,  John. 

JOHN.3 

The  spirit  moved  me,  David. 

DAVID.4 

Don't  be  ashamed,  John.  It  is  the  spirit  that  moves 
young  men  towards  maidens.  Love  doesn't  come 
from  the  Devil.  The  spirit  moved  me  to  wed  the 
best  mother  of  the  best  two  maidens. — I  mustn't 
boast.5  Which  is  it,  John  ?  Faith  or  Drusilla  ? 

JOHN.6     [after  a  shame-faced  pause.] 
Drusilla. 

DAVID.7     [a  little  surprised.] 

Drusilla?!  I  thought  it  was  likely  to  be  Faith. 
Drusilla?!  You've  not  seen  her  for  seven  years. 
She's  never  been  home  here  in  Endellion  except  for 
a  week  or  two  at  a  time. 

ii 


1L.U.  K. 


1  Comes  down 
L.  c.  behind 
John  L. 


•  Turns  round, 
embarrassed, 


Coming  c. 


8  Comes  nearer 
to  John. 


'c. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


'L.C. 


*  Dropping  his 

voice    to  on 

impressive 

whisper. 

*  Stops,  pauses. 


6  I.  C. 


With  an  out- 
burst. 


•L.C. 


•  After  a  pause 
of  reflection. 


JOHN.1 

But  she's  grown  so  beautiful ! 

DAVID.     [Quickly.] 
Hold  thy  peace!    Choose  a  wife  for  her  beauty! 

JOHN. 
Thy  wife,  her  mother,  was  beautiful ! 

DAviD.2  [After  a  pause,  very  impressively.] 
Ay — and  her  goodness  was  of  a  piece  with  her 
beauty !  I  made  an  idol  of  her,  and 3  sometimes  I 
think  I  was  punished.4  She  only  lived  three 
months  after  Faith's  birth.  [A  long  deep  sigh;  then, 
having  dismissed  the  subject,  changes  his  tone.'] 
Drusilla!  But  she  must  go  back  to  her  situation 
in  London 

JOHN.5 

Let  me  persuade  her  to  stay  in  Endellion. 

DAVID.6 

And  keep  her  near  me?  You  know  how  my  heart 
has  ached  for  her  all  the  seven  years  she  has  been 
away  from  me!  But  I've  denied  myself  lest  I 
should  make  an  idol  of  her  too,  and  she  should  be 
taken  from  me  as  her  mother  was.  Besides,  she's 
happy  in  London,  and  she's  with  godly  people, 
though  they're  not  of  our  persuasion.  John,  why 
do  you  tempt  me?7 

JOHN.8 

You  said  just  now  "  Love  doesn't  come  from  the 
Devil." 

DAVID.9 

Speak  to  her,  John.  Ask  her  to  be  your  wife.  Not 
one  word,  good  or  bad,  will  I  say.  [JOHN  grasps 
DAVID'S  hand  very  warmly.]  But  hold — times  are 

12 


SC   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


bad,  and  Endellion  is  little  better  than  a  barren  rock. 
There's  your  dear  mother  to  keep,  and  you've  set 
yourself  a  giant's  task  to  build  that  breakwater. 
There's  years  of  work  before  you,  and  you  mustn't 
give  it  up,  John. 

JOHN. 

Give  it  up!?  Do  you  think  I  could  ever  forget 
that  night,  and  my  promise  to  my  father? 

DAVID. 

That's  right.  A  promise  always  binds — but  a 
promise  to  a  dying  father  binds  seven  times. 

JOHN. 

I'll  never  rest  till  the  last  stone  is  laid.  But  I  could 
work  with  double  the  strength  if  Drusilla  would 
wed  me.  I  could  keep  her  in  comfort,  David,  and 
perhaps  I  could  prevail  with  the  Duke  to  give  me 
help. 


[Enter  from  house,  FAITH  and  DRUSILLA. 
DRUSILLA  is  very  beautiful,  demure, 
dressed  in  Quaker  fashion,  but  hand- 
somely. They  enter  behind  DAVID  and 
JOHN,  and  come  down  unobserved.] 

DAVID.     [Very  scornfully.] 

The  Duke!  Trust  no  Duke,  lad!  Trust  to  thine 
own  right  hand,  and  thy  work  shall  stand  sure  and 
drive  back  the  Atlantic.  [Scornfully.]  The 
Duke!  Let  him  waste  his  substance  in  riotous 
living  with  his  sinful  companions!  You'll  get  no 
help  from  him !  Leave  him  to  dance  to  destruction 
with  his  dancing  baggages — this  what  d'ye  call 
her?  Some  heathen  name — Diana  Valrose! 

[Suddenly  sees  DRUSILLA,  stops  short,  drops 
his  voice.] 

I  was  speaking  of  matters,  my  dear,  that  you  know 

13 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


nothing  of.     John  wants  to  speak  with  you.     Weigh 

wdl  what  he 


of  house  L. 
D  rusill  a 
moves  down 
R.  Faith 
cr  os  set  to 
John. 

1  Into  house  L. 
*  Up  L.  c. 


«B.O. 


FAITH.     [Aside  to  JOHN.] 

I've  said  a  good  word  for  thee.  She  says  she  has 
no  thought  of  marriage,  but  she  will  hear  thee. 

[Exit  FAITH.]2 

DAvm.3     [Calling  into  house.'] 

Faith,  get  me  a  cup  of  tea  —  and  —  [glancing  at  him- 
self.'] And  I'll  give  myself  a  wash  for  the  week- 
night  meeting. 

[Goes  to  door  of  house,  glances  round  with 

great  pride  at  DRUSILLA.] 
My  firstling  ! 

[Exit  into  house.  JOHN  goes  to  DRUSILLA, 
who  stands  very  demurely,  with  eyes 
cast  down  on  the  ground;  pause."] 

DRUS.4 

Why  dost  thou  not  speak  ? 

[JOHN,  very  much  embarrassed,  awkward, 
trembling,  jerky  in  his  utterance,  does 
not  look  at  her.] 

JOHN.5 

Thou  art  quite  happy  in  London,  Drusilla? 
DRUS." 

Alas,  friend  John,  I  am  quite  happy!  And  that  is 
what  makes  me  so  sad. 

JOHN. 

Sad  because  you  are  happy  ? 
DRUS. 

Yes,  John,  for  to  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  I  am 
not  quite  good  and  therefore  I  ought  not  to  be  quite 
happy  —  but  alas  !  7  am. 

JOHN. 
I  do  not  understand  you. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


DRUS. 
That's  not  strange,  for  I  do  not  understand  myself. 

JOHN.     [Very  earnestly.] 
Brasilia — could  you  live  all  your  life  in  Endellion? 

DRUS. 

I  could,  John,  but  I  do  not  think  I  should  live  very 
long. 

JOHN. 
Why  not? 

DRUS. 

I  could  not  live  in  an  island  where  they  play  har- 
moniums on  Sunday  afternoon. 

JOHN.     [Embarrassed.] 
Then  I  may  not  ask  you  to 

DRUS.     [With  cordial  encouragement.] 
Ask  me  anything  you  please,  friend  John. 

JOHN.     [Very  hopeful.] 
Then,  Drusilla — will  you ? 

DRUS.     [Unconcerned,  demure.] 

Will  I  live  in  Endellion?  [Considering.]  It  is 
very  healthy — Sarah  Bazeley  has  lived  to  a  hundred 
and  two 

JOHN.     [Dubiously.] 

Yes 

DRUS. 

But  I  should  like  to  die  while  I  am  well-favored,  and 
have  all  my  wits,  and  teeth,  and  hair,  because  I 
should  be  very  sorrowful  hereafter  without  them. 

JOHN. 
But  wilt  thou  live  in  Endellion  ? 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


DRUS. 

The  air  is  soft  and  pleasant,  and  moreover  all  who 
live  here  must  needs  be  very  good. 


II.  Call. 
Faith  Ives. 
Reginald 
Slingsby,  Duke 
of  Ouisebury. 

1  Sitting  on 
rock  R.  hold- 
ing out  her 
foot. 

1  John  kneels, 
takes  off  slip- 
per ana  gives 
it  to  her. 


Why? 


JOHN. 

DRUS. 
Because  they  have  no  means  of  falling  into  evil. 

JOHN. 
It  is  indeed  a  favored  spot. 

DRUS. 

Ah,  friend  John,  but  what  merit  is  there  in  good- 
ness when  it"  is  forced  ?  Now  as  I  told  thee,  there 
is  little  goodness  in  me 

JOHN. 

Thou  art  all  goodness !  Oh,  Drusilla,  have  pity  on 
me!  [Approaching  her.] 

DRUS.     [Starts  away  from  him.] 

Nay,  but  John,  have  pity  on  me ! 

[Lifting  up  her  foot.] 

JOHN. 
What  ails  thee? 

DRUS. 

There  is  a  stone  in  my  slipper.1     It  hurts  me.2 
[JOHN  takes  off  her  slipper.] 

The  shoemaker  who  made  my  slippers  told  me  I 
had  the  prettiest  foot  in  London.  Is  it  not  wicked 
of  him  to  fill  my  heart  with  vanity  ? 

JOHN.     [Kneeling  still.] 
Have  you  found  it? 

DRUS.     [Putting  on  slipper.] 

There  is  nothing  in  it. 
16 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


1  On  hit  knees 
before  her. 
gazes  up  at 
her  with  pas- 
sion. 

*  Crossing 
above  John 
to  L.  C. 


4  L.  C. 


JOHN.     [Suddenly.]  * 
I  love  thee !    Love  me,  or  I  shall  die ! 

DRUS.2 

You  are  foolish! 

[Going  away  from  him;  looking  at  him.] 

JOHN.     [Rises,  comes  up  to  her  with  fierce 
passion.]5 

I  love  thee !     Wilt  thou  wed  me  ? 

DRUS.4 

I  have  not  thought  of  it. 

JOHN.     [Same  tone  as  before.] 

I  love  thee !     Wilt  thou  wed  me  ? 

[Seising  her  arm.] 

DRUS. 

You  should  not  woo  me  so — you  are  too  rough ! 

[Withdrawing  her  arm.] 

JOHN. 

I  know  not  how  to  woo — I  love  thee!     Wilt  thou 
wed  me  ?     Say  me  yea  or  nay. 

DRUS. 

I  am  sorry,  friend  John,  but  I  must  say  thee  "  nay." 

[He  looks  at  her.] 
Indeed  I  mean  it. 

[His  hands  drop  with  a  despairing  gesture; 
he  stands  quiet,  hopeless,  stricken  for  a 
few  seconds.] 

JOHN.     [Very  hopelessly.] 

If  you  ever  want  a  man's  love,  you  know  where  to 
find  it. 

[Goes  off5  very  slowly,  downcast,  despair- 
ing.] 

2  17 


above  house. 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Moving  c. 


» Hiding    her 
head. 


•  Hiding  her 
head  on 
Drus.'  breast. 


DRUS. 

Poor  fellow.     [Looking  after  him.~\     He  looked 

rather  handsome !     Should  I 

[FAITH  enters  from  house.}  2 

FAITH. 

What  answer  have  you  given  him?  You  will 
marry  him? 

DRUS. 

No,  indeed.  I  do  not  love  him — and  yet  he  looked 
very  comely  with  his  red  and  tanned  face.  Tell  me, 
Faith — don't  you  love  him  yourself? 

FAITH. 
No — at  least  six  weeks  ago 3 


Tell  me. 


DRUS. 
FAITH. 


I  had  never  thought  about  any  man — but  when  he 
returned  from  Penzance,  he  brought  me  a  handker- 
chief and  he  took  my  hand  that  night,  and  looked  at 
me  a  long  while 


Go  on. 


DRUS. 
FAITH. 


My  heart  beat  very  fast,  and  the  next  day  when  I 
saw  him  coming,  I  hid  away  from  him — I  was 
ashamed!  Drusilla,  have  you  never  had  thoughts 
of  love  ?  4 

DRUS. 

Thoughts  are  like  birds!  They  will  come  and 
roost ! 

FAITH. 

But  in  London — has  no  man  tried  to  persuade  you 
to  love  him  ? 

18 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


DRUS. 
One  or  two  men  have  tried. 

FAITH. 

You  know  /  would  tell  you  everything.  Tell  me 
everything  about  yourself.  Do  you  love  any  man? 

DRUS. 
We  are  commended  to  love  all  men.1 

FAITH. 
Yes,  but  with  that  surpassing  love. 

DRUS. 

I  do  not  think  I  could  love  any  man  with  a  surpass- 
ing love.  And  yet — [Yawns,  stretches  out  her 
arms  above  her  head,  sighs.]  I  don't  know — if  I 
could  have  a  man  after  my  own  heart 


FAITH. 


A  very  good  man- 


DRUS. 

A  perfect  man!     I  could  love  him — all  a  summer 

afternoon.  [Jumps  up.] 

Ah!     We  are  talking  foolishly.     I  wonder  where 

John  has  gone.2 

[Looking  after  JOHN  ;  meets  REGY  SLINGSBY 
who  enters.5  REGY  is  a  modern,  old- 
young  man,  about  thirty-three,  nearly 
bald.  He  shows  great  surprise  at  see- 
ing DRUSILLA,  stops  dead — takes  off 
his  hat  and  bows.  DRUSILLA  looks  at 
him  unmoved.] 

Friend!     Why  dost  thou  look  at  me?     I  do  not 

know  thee. 

[REGY  disconcerted,  stands  hat  in  hand,4 
looking  at  her.] 

Put  on  thy  hat.     Sunstrokes  are  frequent  in  Endel- 

19 


^Sitting  on 
rock  R.  c. 


1  Goes*. 

'  L.  U.  E. 


•m. 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


lion,  and  when  one  has  a  weak  place,  it  is  foolish 
to  expose  it  to  injury. 

REGY.     [Puts  on  his  hat.'] 
I  beg  pardon — I  mistook  you — I- 


*  Comes  c. 


8  Regy  turns  to 
go  R.  u.  E. 

4  From  behind 
meeting- 
house, R.  u  B. 


*  Coming  down 

R.  C. 


•c. 

1 Glancin g 
from  him  to 
window. 


•  Pointing  R.  u. 


[Laughs  foolishly.'] 


DRUS. 


Do  not  make  that  mistake  again,  friend.  Come, 
Faith! 

[Takes  FAITH'S  arm,  goes  with  her  towards 
house;  REGY  is  still  staring.] 

FAITH. 
A  tourist !     Why  does  he  stare  at  you  ? 

DRUS. 

He  thinks  he  knows  me.  It's  strange!  So  many 
folks  make  that  mistake. 

[Exeunt  DRUSILLA  and  FAITH  into  house.]1 

REGY.2 

Well,  I— if  it  isn't  her 

[Goes  up  path;s   meets  DUKE  OF  GUISE- 
BURY     who     enters; 4     both     exclaim 
"Hillo!"] 
Guise !     Well,  I  am — What  the  devil 

GUISE.5 

Hush,  Regy!  You're  in  the  Island  of  Endellion 
where  bad  language,  scarlet  fever,  hydrophobia  and 
immorality  have  never  entered. 

REGY.' 
But  you're  here — and 7 

GUISE. 

My  yacht's  off  that  point.8     I've  only  called  in  for 
a  few  hours,  strictly  incog. 
20 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


1  Waters  flower 
on  window 
ledge. 

*  Trying  to 
take  him 
away  R. 

1  Hanging 

back. 


REGY. 

Incog.  ?     I  say,  do  you  know  who's  down  here  ? 

[DRUSILLA  passes  the  window.]  1 
There — it  is  Diana  Valrose! 

GUISE.2 

Nonsense,  Regy! 

REGY.S 
I'll  swear  it  is !     And  you  down  here  too !     It  must 

GUISE. 

That  young  lady  is  Drusilla  Ives — the  eminently  re- 
spectable Quaker  daughter  of  one  of  my  eminently 
respectable  Quaker  tenants.  Now  come — I'll  show 
you  my  new  yacht. 

REGY. 

No.  If  that  isn't  Diana  Valrose,  I  shall  try  and  get 
an  introduction  to  her. 

GUISE. 
You'll  oblige  me,  Regy,  by  not  noticing  that  lady. 

REGY. 

Look  here,  Guise — own  up.  It  is  Diana — Miss 
Valrose — Why  I  met  her  at  your  table.4 

GUISE.B 
Hush !     The  fact  is  she's  a  native  of  this  place. 

REGY. 
How  did  you  get  to  know  her,  then  ? 

GUISE. 

I'll  tell  you.6  Her  father  sent  her  up  to  a  situ- 
ation in  London,  and  five  years  ago  she  called 
on  me  as  her  father's  landlord  for  a  subscription  to 
some  charity  affair — I  saw  she  was  two-thirds  de- 

21 


*  O  o  t  n  flr,    to- 
wards  cot- 
tage. 

*  Following 

and  bringing 
him  back. 


•  Duke  sits  on 
rock  R.  c.  tak- 
ing out  ciga- 
rette case. 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


lightful  Quaker  innocence,  and  one-third  the  devil's 
own  wit  and  mischief,  so — I  gave  her  the  subscrip- 
tion! 


1  Foot  on  rock. 


'  Ri3€3. 


'Sitting  on 
rock. 


And  now? 


REGY.1 


GUISE. 


Well,  don't  ask  me  any  more,  Regy.  I've  been  a 
confounded  fool  all  through,  but  somehow — I  can't 
help  it.  It's  a  damned  silly  thing  to  say — I  really 
love  that  woman ! 

REGY. 

But  where  did  she  get  her  style  and  tone  from? 
Anyone  would  think  she  was  a  lady. 

GUISE.     [With  meaning.]  2 

I've  never  met,  Regy,  with  anyone  who  has  pre- 
sumed to  think  otherwise  in  my  presence.  She  had 
the  best  masters.  She  astonished  me  with  the 
amount  of  things  she  learnt,  and  the  way  she 
dropped  the  Quaker,  and  became — well,  she's  a 
Pagan !  Three  years  ago  she  took  a  fancy  to  danc- 
ing. Last  season  she  began  dancing  for  some 
charities,  and  her  long  skirts  took  the  town  by 
storm.  She  got  asked  to  lots  of  places,  and — that's 
the  whole  history  of  it,  Regy. 


And  her  people? 


REGY. 


GUISE. 


Oh,  they  think  she's  in  a  situation  in  London.  Most 
people  believe  what  pleases  them.3  It's  good  for 
them.  I  never  disturb  a  good,  comfortable  fiction 
— it's  against  my  conservative  principles. 

REGY.4 

She's  made  you  dance  to  a  pretty  tune,  Guise. 
House  in  Mayfair,  race-horses,  carriages,  diamonds 

22 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


1  Smoking. 


—what  would  it  all  tot  up  to,  Guise?    A  hundred 
thousand  pounds! 

GUISE.  1 

Perhaps.    But  she's  never  bored  me. 

REGY. 

Can't  you  pull  up  ? 

GUISE.2 

What  for  ?     She's  never  bored  me. 


REGY. 
Do  you  mean  to  let  her  ruin  you  ? 

GUISE.3 

Why  not  ?     She's  never  bored  me. 

REGY. 

Not  down  in  this  hole? 

GUISE. 

Don't  you  go  depreciating  my  property.  I've  only 
just  got  here.  She,  like  a  dutiful  daughter,  took  a 
fancy  to  visit  her  people,  and  I,  like  a  dutiful  land- 
lord, took  a  fancy  to  visit  my  tenants  I  haven't 
been  to  Endellion  for  eighteen  years. 

REGY. 
You're  a  model  landlord. 

GUISE. 

I  am.  I  take  two  thousand  a  year  from  Endellion  in 
rents,  and  I  spend  three  in  repairs,  and  keeping  the 
sea  out.  What  brings  you  to — this  hole  ?  4 

REGY.5 

I  wanted  to  get  out  of  town,  away  from  everybody 
— so  I  came  here.  The  fact  is,  Guise — {confiden- 
tially']— I've  made  a  fool  of  myself! 

23 


'  Puff- 


III.  Call. 
David  Ives. 
Drusilla  Ives. 


•  Tinge  of  curi- 
osity. 

8  Uncomfort- 
able. 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


i  Rising. 


*Pufflng  ciga- 
rette. 


GUISE.1 

What,  again!  The  third  time!  After  Bowler's 
cross-examination,  and  after  those  damages — as  ex- 
emplary as  your  behavior. 

[Shaking  his  head.] 
Regy,  Regy,  you're  a  bad  lot — bad  lot,  Regy ! 

REGY. 

No,  no,  old  fellow.  Not  that — I've  been  really  go- 
ing straight  lately. 

GUISE. 

Ah,  twice  bit,  once  shy,  I  see !  What  silly  mess  have 
you  got  yourself  into  now  ? 

REGY.     [calmly.] 
I'm  engaged  to  be  married. 

[The  two  men  look  at  each  other  calmly  for 
some  seconds.] 

GUISE. 
What,  again!     [Calmly.]  2     Who's  landed  you? 

REGY. 
One  of  the  Poperoach  girls — Isabel. 

GUISE. 

Isabel?  Oh,  yes.  Tall  girl,  with  large  features, 
high  cheek-bones,  and  a  lot  of  wispy,  straw-colored 
hair — eh  ? 

REGY.     [Dubiously.'} 

Yes.    It  may  turn  out  all  right,  you  know  ? 

GUISE. 
Think  so? 

REGY. 

Lady  Poperoach  has  been  trying  to  catch  me  all 
the  season.    I  could  see  their  game.    Will  you  walk 
into  my  parlor?     And  in  I  walked.     And  the  old 
woman  slammed  the  door.    And  there  it  was  staring 
at  me  in  the  Morning  Post  the  next  morning. 
[Looks  very  depressed;  GUISE  laughs.] 
24 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  I 


REGY.     [Piteously.] 

Don't  be  hard  on  a  fellow.    Isabel's  got  some  good 
points — eh  ? 

[Anxiously.] 

What  do  you  think  of  her?    Really  now — not  bad, 
take  her  altogether? 

GUISE. 
I'd  rather  take  her  in  instalments! 


REGY.1 

It  isn't  Isabel  so  much  as  the  old  woman.  Lady 
Poperoach  does  come  the  old  soldier  over  everybody. 
It's  awful ! 

GUISE.2 

How  is  it  you're  not  on  duty? 

REGY.3 

Well,  as  soon  as  it  was  all — you  know — settled,  I 
thought  I  should  like  to  have  a  few  days  to  myself 
and  think  it  over.  So  I  got  away — just — well,  just 
to  get  used  to  the  idea. 

GUISE.     [Benevolently.'] 

Get  used  to  it,  Regy — don't  hurry,  but  get  used  to 
it. 

REGY.     [Valiantly]. 

Oh,  I'm  in  for  it,  and  I  mean  to  go  through  it  like 
a  man. 

[DAVID  enters']  4 

GUISE.     [To  REGY.] 

One  of  my  Quaker  tenants.  They  don't  know  me — 
don't  know  I'm  in  the  island.  Regy,  here's  a  chance 
of  hearing  an  honest  opinion  of  myself. 

REGY. 

I  say [GuiSE  puts  him  away.]  5    Well  I'm 

[Exit* 
25 


*  Moody,  walk- 
ing to  L..  and 
back  to  Quite. 


*  L.    coming 
backc. 


•  House,  at 
door  it. 


6  Up  stage. 
Regy  exit 
back  of  meet- 
ing-house. 

6  R.  U.  E. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Ooes  towards 
David. 


*  Coming  to  L. 
c. 


GUISE.1 

Very  charming  spot,  this  Isle  of  Endellion ! 

DAVID.2 

We're  highly  favored  in  many  respects,  friend. 

GUISE.3 

Who's  the  owner  of  this  property? 

[DRUS.  comes  to  door  and  listens. 

DAVID.4 

Valentine   Danecourt His  Grace  the  Duke  of 

Guisebury  and  the  Earl  of  St.  Endellion,  they  call 
him. 

GUISE.5 

Of  course.     You  are  highly  favored.     A  philan- 
thropist, isn't  he? 

DAVID. 

I've  heard  him  called  many  names,  but  I've  never 
heard  that  title  given  to  him. 

GUISE. 
Perhaps  you  don't  know  him. 

DAVID. 

No,  friend,  but  I  have  received  a  very  evil  report 
of  him. 

GUISE. 
Ah !    From  the  Radical  papers ! 

DAVID. 
No,  from  his  own  actions.    He  wants  no  other  ac- 


cusers. 


GUISE. 


What  particular  shape  does  his  infamy  take? 
26 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  I 


DAVID. 

All  shapes.  A  spendthrift,  a  libertine,  a  gambler 
with  cards  and  horses. 

GUISE. 

The  rascal !    The  damned  rascal ! 
DAVID. 

Yes,  friend.  That's  a  strong  word  to  use,  but  it's 
the  right  one ! 

GUISE.    [Amused.'] 

He  hasn't  killed  anybody,  I  suppose? 

DAVID. 
Yes,  he  has. 

GUISE.     [Highly  amused.] 
A  murderer  as  well!     [Aside.]    I'm  getting  on! 
DAVID. 

The  law  wouldn't  call  it  murder,  but  his  conscience 
would,  if  he  had  one. 

GUISE. 
What  do  you  mean? 

DAVID. 

Two  years  ago,  my  friend  Mark  Christison  was 
struck  in  the  high  tide,  as  he  was  trying  to  save  his 
home  from  destruction.  He  died  and  his  wife  went 
out  of  her  mind.  What  Valentine  Danecourt  wastes 
on  his  dancing  creatures  would  have  built  a  break- 
water, and  saved  Mark  Christison's  life. 

GUISE.     [Aside.]  l 

He's  right.  I  am  a  blackguard !  [Stands  thought- 
ful.] 

DRUS.     [To  her  father.]  2 

Your  tea's  ready,  father ! 

GUISE.     [Aside.] 8 
Di's  father! 

27 


1  Going  B. 


*  Coming  do-wn 
L. 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


*  David  moves 
up  a  little 
towards  cot- 
tage L. 

4  Crossing  c. 


5  a.  c. 


•c. 


DRUS.1 

What  have  you  been  saying  to  the  stranger? 

DAVID.2 

I've  been  telling  him  my  opinion  of  Valentine  Dane- 
court.3 

DRUS.     [Mischievously.]  4 

I  hope  you  have  been  pleasantly  entertained,  friend. 

GUISE.     [Ironically.] 5 
Oh,  most  pleasantly. 

DRUS.6 

In  London  where  I  live  there  is  grievous  talk  of  the 
Duke's  misdeeds. 

GUISE.7 

So  there  is  in  Endellion,  it  seems. 

DAVID.     [To  GUISE.]  8 
Do  you  know  this  Duke? 

GUISE.9 

I  have  met  him,  but  if  he's  as  bad  as  you  say,  I 
shall  keep  out  of  his  way  for  the  future. 

DAVID. 
Aye,  do,  friend.     Come,  Drusilla.10 

[REGY  runs  on.]  u 

REGY.12 

I  say,  Guisebury,  old  fellow 


•  L.  near  door. 


•a.  c. 


10  Turns  to  go 
into  house. 

11  R.  u.  E.  Regy 
speaks  as  he 
runs        on ; 
stops  short  as 
David  turns; 
remains  up  c. 


u  L.  near  door. 

"L. 

WL.C. 
"B.C. 


DAVID.     [Turns  sharply  round.]  1S 

Guisebury!    Guisebury!     Go  indoors,  Drusilla! 

[DRUS.  exit  into  house.™     DAVID  15  turns  to 

GUISE.]  16 

Then  you  are  Valentine  Danecourt,  yourself? 
28 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


GUISE.1 

At  your  service. 

DAVID.     [After  a  pause.]  a 

I  suppose  I  may  take  a  year's  notice  to  quit  my 
house  and  land. 

GUISE.3 

Not  at  all.  I'm  a  very  bad  landlord,  Mr.  Ives,  but 
you're  a  very  good  tenant.  I'm  glad  to  have  heard 
your  candid  opinion  of  me. 

DAVID.4 

.You're  quite  welcome. 

GUISE.8 

I  regret  to  say  that  all  you  have  said  of  me  is  quite 
true.  I  am  a  thoroughly  bad  lot,  and  the  worst  of 
it  is  there's  not  the  least  chance  of  my  reformation. 
However,  if  you  want  any  repairs  doing,  my  agent, 
Crake,  is  down  here  with  me — let  him  know  and  they 
shall  be  done. 


Thank  you.6 


DAVID. 

GUISE.7 


And  in  the  meantime,  friend  Ives,  as  I  never  knew 
Mr.  Christison,  have  no  precise  knowledge  of  high 
tides,  and  was  at  Monte  Carlo  at  the  time  of  his 
death,  I  think  you  may  stretch  a  point  in  my  favor 
and  call  it  manslaughter  for  the  future — eh,  friend? 

DAVID.     [Seriously.]  8 

Harkee,  friend — Remember  your  promise — Keep 
out  of  the  Duke  of  Guisebury's  way  for  the  future. 
You'll  be  wise. 

[Exit  into  house.]  9 

REGY.10 

I'm  afraid  I've  put  my  foot  in  it  again ! 

29 


1  Comes  G. 


•L.O. 

IV.  Call. 
Mr.  Crake. 
Sybil  Crake. 

•c. 


•c. 


«  Going  t. 

Tc.  moving  L.  a 


^Coming  down 
c. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Crossing  R. 


*  L.  u.  E.  above 
house. 


«R.C. 


*  L.  c.       Duke 
sits      R.     c., 
lights        an- 
other     ciga- 
rette, 

•c. 

*  L.  C. 


Sybil  enters 
L.  u.  E.,  comes 
down  K.  c. 


•L.  from  path- 
way. 


GUISE.1 

What  made  you  blurt  out  my  name  when  I  told  you 
I  was  here  incog? 

REGY.2 

I'm  awfully  sorry,  old  fellow.  Hallo!  Here's 
what's-his-name. 

[Enter  CRAKE,  the  DUKE'S  steward  and  land 
agent,  about  50.]  3 

GUISE.4 

Here's  Crake — you  know  Crake? 

CRAKE.     [A  little  surprised  on  seeing  REGY.] 
Mr.  Slingsby,  how  d'ye  do  ?  6 

REGY.6 

I'm  not  very  well. 

CRAKE.7 

I  saw  the  joyful  news  in  the  Morning  Post. 

REGY.     [Sheepishly.'] 

Yes.    It's  the  right  sort  of  thing  to  do,  eh,  Crake  ? 
[CRAKE  does  not  reply. ] 

No,  but  candidly,  Crake — after  a  fellow's  knocked 
about  for  a  great  many  years  as  I  have,  there  conies 
a  time  when  he  thinks  "  I'm  having  a  jolly  good 
time  of  it  now,  but  who's  going  to  nurse  me  and 
take  care  of  me  when  I  get  into  the  sere  and  yellow 
leaf?  "  A  man  must  look  at  it  a  little  in  that  light.8 

[CRAKE  goes  up  a  little.  SYBIL  CRAKE  en- 
ters; an  odd,  elfin  girl,  about  20,  lame, 
with  crutches,  very  bright,  sprightly, 
alert,  she  hops  on,Q  comes  up  to  GUISE. 
GUISE'S  manner  towards  her  is  protect- 
ing, something  like  a  master  to  a  favor- 
ite dog.] 
30 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


GUISE.1 

Well,  Midge,  what  have  you  been  doing? 

SYBIL.2 

Wishing  I  was  a  millionaire,  or  a  bricklayer,  or  a 
horsewhip. 

GUISE.3 

Why? 

SYBIL.4 

If  I  were  a  millionaire,  I  could  build  that  break- 
water; if  I  were  a  bricklayer,  I  could  help  poor 
young  Christison  build  it;  if  I  were  a  horsewhip,  I 
might  whip  all  the  people  who  brought  you  up,  and 
between  them  spoiled  a  good  man  in  the  making. 

CRAKE.     [Very  reprovingly.']  5 
Sybil!    Sybil! 

GUISE.  6 
I've  spoiled  myself,  Midge. 

SYB.     [Hops  across  to  REGY.]  7 
Mr.  Slingsby,  how  are  you  ? 

REGY.8 

I'm  not  very  well. 

SYB.9 

I've  heard  some  good  news  about  you. 

REGY.10 

Yes?  She's  rather  a  jolly  girl,  you  know.  Very 
good  at  repartee. 

GUISE.  " 
That's  an  awkward  talent  in  a  wife,  Regy. 

REGY.12 

Look  here,  Guise,  you  needn't  choke  me  off;  I'm  in 


1  R.  c.  seated  on 
rock. 


*  R.  c. 


•c. 

V.  Call. 
Mr.  Leddra. 
Mrs.  Leddra. 
Stephen    Led- 
dra. 

Mrs.Christi- 
son. 

David  Ives. 
Drusilla  Ives. 
John  Christi- 
son. 

Faith  fves. 
Villagers   and 
Children. 

6  Up  R.  c. 


R.  C.  rmngr. 


11  R. 


14  Crossing    to 
him. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


•  Comet    down 
c. 


for  it  now,  and  I'm  going  to  try  it !  It  may  not  suit 
me,  but  I'm  going  to  try  it! 

GUISE.1 

Very  well,  Regy — try  it!  Come  and  dine  with  me 
on  my  yacht.  We'll  make  it  half-past  eight  to  give 
you  plenty  of  time. 

»  Crossing  R.  REGY.2 

All  right.  See  you  at  dinner,  Guise.  [Piteously.] 
I  knew  I  was  putting  my  foot  in  it. 

[Exit  very  despondent? 

GUISE.4 

Well,  Crake,  what's  to  be  done  with  this  confounded 
island  ? 

CRAKE.' 

Take  your  rents  while  you  can,  and  then  let  the 
island  pitch  headforemost  into  the  sea. 

SYB.6 

And  then  let  the  people  pitch  headforemost  into  the 
sea  after  it. 

CRAKE.7 

The  people  must  move  off. 

SYB.8 

But  they  love  their  homes — isn't  it  senseless  of 
them? 

CRAKE.9 

My  dear  Sybil,  this  is  a  practical  question. 

SYB.10 

Yes,  I've  been  talking  with  the  fishermen's  wives — 
they're  horribly  practical.  What  do  you  think? 
They  want  to  keep  a  roof  over  their  children. 

"R.  GUISE.11 

Can't  something  be  done,  Crake? 
32 


•L.C. 


•o. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT    I 


*  Crake  goes 
up  c.  Sybil 
crosses  to 
Duke. 


CRAKE.1 

Your  Grace!  I  would  prefer  not  to  speak  of  your 
affairs.  [Glancing  at  SYB. 

GUISE.2 

Oh,  Midge  knows  I'm  a  pauper.    Go  on. 

CRAKE.3 

This  breakwater  would  cost  fifty  thousand  pounds 
at  least.  Indeed  you  can't  possibly  raise  the  money.4 

SYB. 
Oh,  that  needn't  stand  in  your  way — it  never  has. 

[Enter  CAPTAIN  and  MRS.  LEDDRA,  villagers 
tenants,  and  children.] 

Here  are  some  of  your  tenants  coming  to  meeting. 
That's  Captain  Leddra  and  his  wife.  I  wish  you 
knew  your  tenants. 

GUISE. 
Introduce  me.5 

SYB. 

May  I  ?  6  Captain  Leddra,  Mrs.  Leddra — here  is 
the  Duke  of  Guisebury  come  to  pay  you  a  visit. 

[General  surprise.'}  7 

LEDDRA.     [A  bronzed  seafarer.] 

The  Duke!  [Comes  to  GUISE.]  8  You're  wel- 
come, your  Grace !  We've  been  looking  out  for  you 
for  the  last  dozen  years  or  so.  We  thought  you'd 
forgotten  there  was  such  a  place  as  Endellion. 

GUISE.9 

No,  Captain  Leddra — I've  not  forgotten  Endellion, 
and  if  I  can  do  anything  for  the  island- 

LEDD.10 

If  you've  a  mind  to  do  anything  for  us,  your  Grace, 
3  33 


6  Several  peo- 
ple enter  R. 
and  L. 


*  Sybil  goes  up 
R.  c.  facing 
crowd. 

7  The  crowd  of 
people  who 
were  moving 
towards 
church  stops 
and  form 
tableau  of 
amazement. 
Crake  down 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


*o. 


*  Goes  up  R.  c. 
Sybil    comes 
down  R. 

•L.C. 

•  Advances  c. 


T  Downn. 


you  must  be  quick  about  it.  We're  at  our  wits* 
ends !  The  sea's  washing  us  away ! 

[DAVID  IVES  comes  to  door  of  house.]  1 

CRAKE.2 

But  can't  you  find  employment  elsewhere? 
LEDD.S 

Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Crake,  there's  plenty  of  employment 
at  the  North  Pole.4 

CRAKE.5 

The  North  Pole? 

LEDD.6 

We've  been  offered  berlhs  with  this  new  Arctic 
Expedition  that  Captain  Curvengen  is  fitting  out  at 
Plymouth.  He  sails  next  spring.  It's  a  desperate 
venture,  but  we  shall  have  to  go. 

SYB.7 

Yes,  you'll  leave  all  your  bones  at  the  North  Pole, 
but  there'll  be  two  hundred  pounds  apiece  for  your 
widows.  And  you'll  have  snow  for  a  shroud,  and 
an  iceberg  for  a  hearse  and  white  bears  for  under- 
takers— so  there'll  be  no  funeral  expenses. 

[MRS.  LEDDRA,S  with  a  cry,  clings  to  her  husband.] 
You  shan't  go,  Steve — you  shan't  go !  9 

LEDDRA.10 

Let  be,  Hester.  What's  the  use  of  staying  here?  I 
will  go,  I  tell  you,  woman,  unless — unless  I  happen 
to  get  killed  first  as  Mark  Christison  was ! 

MRS.  LEDD.  J1 
Hush! 

[MRS.  CHRISTISON,  a  white-haired  old  peas- 
ant woman  comes  on,™  very  gentle, 
dreamy,  absorbed.] 

GUISE.13 

Who's  this?14 

34 


•  Mrs.    Leddra 

comes    down 
R.  of  Leddra. 

•  Comes   down 
L.  c. 


»  Looking  L. 


"B.C. 

14  Stephen  and 
the  rest  of  the 
FisherfoUe 
move  t*p,  re- 
garding Mrs. 
Christison 
compassion- 
ately. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


*  At     door    of 
house  L. 


*L.C. 


•  Conies    down- 
to  Guise  c. 

7  Guise  nods. 


SYB.1 

Mark  Christison's  widow.  She's  mad!  You 
needn't  take  any  notice  of  her. 

MRS.  C.2    [To  DAVID.]  3 
Is  there  any  news  from  Mark  yet,  David  ? 

DAVID.4 

No,  Rachel,  there's  no  news  yet. 

MRS.  C.5 

It's  unkind  of  him  not  to  write  to  me.  [Seeing 
GUISE.]  A  stranger  gentleman!  6  I  beg  your  par- 
don, friend.  Do  you  come  from  London  ? 7 
[GuiSE  nods.]  My  husband  Mark  Christison  has 
gone  up  there  to  ask  the  Duke  to  help  him.  Mark's 
left  me  for  two  years,  and  he  never  writes  to  me. 
I  know  he  hasn't  forgotten  me,  because  when  man 
and  wife  love  as  we  loved,  there's  never  any  for- 
getting on  either  side  of  the  grave. 

SYB.S     [watching  GUISE.] 
She's  mad.     You  needn't  take  any  notice  of  her.9 

GUISE.  10 

I  haven't  met  your  husband,  Mrs.  Christison,  but 
I  believe  he's  well — quite  well. 

[Takes  her  hand  kindly  with  a  soothing  ges- 
ture.'] 

MRS.  C.11 

Thank  you,  friend.  The  Duke  may  be  keeping  him 
in  London.  It's  week-night  meeting.  I'm  going  to 
pray  for  him  to  come  back. 

[GuiSE  gives  her  his12  hand  with  great 
courtesy  and  leads  her  towards  the 
meeting-house.'] 

I  pray,  and  I  pray,  and  I  pray,  but  he  never  comes.13 

35 


'Sybil  moves  up 
R.  to  meeting- 
house. 


"C. 


"B. 


11  Going  to 
meeting- 
house. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  At  door  of 
chapel  meet- 
ing Mrs.  C. 


*R. 


Coming  down 


*  L.  U  B. 


•L.  c. 


•  General  hur- 
rah. 


•L.C. 


SYB.1 

You  might  say  a  good  word  for  the  Duke  while 
you're  about  it,  Mrs.  Christison.  They  tell  me  he 
needs  it  more  than  your  husband. 

MRS.  C. 

Yes,  I'll  say  a  good  word  for  the  Duke. 

[Exit  into  meeting-house? 

GUISE.    [Sharply.] 

Crake!3      [JOHN   CHRISTISON  re-enters;4  FAITH 
and  DRUS.  come  to  cottage  door.]5 
Send  for  an  engineer  from  London,  get  him  to  pre- 
pare plans,  and  give  me  an  estimate  for  a  breakwater 
that  will  protect  all  the  southwest  coast  of  the  island. 

CRAKE.     [Dcprecatingly.]  6 
Your  Grace — it's  madness —  it's  impossible ! 

GUISE.7 

Yes,  Crake,  I  know  it's  impossible,  but  it's  going 
to  be  done.  Captain  Leddra,  you  and  your  friends 
may  remain  in  the  bosom  of  your  families  instead  of 
trying  to  climb  the  legendary  North  Pole.8  I'm 
glad  you  have  such  excellent  lungs.  But  you'd 
better  save  your  shouts  till  the  breakwater  is  built. 

JOHN.     [Comes  eagerly  forward.]  9 

Your  Grace,  I  want  to  thank  you.  My  name's  John 
Christison.  I  promised  my  father  when  he  was  dy- 
ing that  if  you  did  nothing,  I  would  build  the  break- 
water with  my  own  hands.  Oh!  it's  weary  work! 
For  as  fast  as  we  lay  one  stone  upon  the  other,  the 
tide  and  storm  dash  them  to  pieces.  My  courage  is 
well-nigh  spent,  but  if  you  will  lend  me  some  men 
and  money,  I'll  begin  again  with  a  new  heart,  and 
please  God,  the  work  shall  prosper  in  our  hands. 
You'll  help  me,  Duke — you'll  help  me? 
36 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  I 


GUISE.1 

Certainly,  Mr.  Christison.  I  shall  be  very  glad  of 
your  advice  and  assistance.  We  will  consider  the 
building  of  this  breakwater  as  our  joint  enterprise, 
and  you  shall  be  my  overlooker  at  a  salary  of  two 
hundred  pounds  a  year. 

JOHN.2 

Thank  you,  Duke.3  You  do  mean  it!  You'll  go 
through  with  it? 

GUISE.4 

I  keep  my  word,  Mr.  Christison.  It's  a  habit  of 
mine,  and  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  I'll  build 
that  breakwater. 

JOHN.5 

Forgive  me,  your  Grace !  I  don't  doubt  you.  I 
can't  thank  you.  Ah !  6  But  I'll  ask  a  blessing  for 
you  from  the  place  that  used  to  be  my  father's.7 

[Goes  quickly  up  to  the  meeting-house  door. 


DRUS.     [Quiet,  seductive.']  8 
Shall  I  come  with  you,  friend  John? 

JOHN.     [Eagerly. .]  9 

Will  you  ?    If  you  would  help  me,  I  could  work  like 
a  giant! 

DRUS.10 

Perhaps  I  will.    Come! 

[They    go     into     meeting-house  ^     FAITH 
watching  them.] 

FAITH.     [Aside.]  12 

She  does  not  love  him,  yet  she  makes  him  love  her. 
[Looks  after  them  in  the  meeting-house,  and 
goes  in.] 

MRS.  LEDD.IS 

My  blessings  on  you  too,  your  Grace.      [To  her 

37 


»L.C. 


8  Looks  at 
Guise. 


4  R.  C. 


8  Looking  up. 

1  As  John 
turns    to   go 
towards 
meeting- 
house   Dru- 
silla     over* 
takes  him. 

•  L.  of  John. 


10  Takes  his 
hand. 


1  L.  c. 
ing. 


13  Mrs.  Leddra 
comes  down 
c.  bringing 
little  boy 
with  her:  Sy- 
bil comes 
down  B.  of 
Duke. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


*  Putting    him 
across  to 
Duke. 


*  turns  to  Syb. 
R. 

8  Harmonium 
in  meeting- 
house R.  "OJd 
Hundred." 

Music  S  in 
Chapel. 

•B. 


*R.  C. 

"c. 


1  Leddra  comes 
down  L.  of 
Mrs.  Leddra. 
Crowd  grad- 
ually exeunt 
into  chapel 


»l  Leddra  lets 
his  wife  and 
child  pass  in- 
to meeting- 
house and 
turns  to  Da- 
vid, who  is 
L.  of  him, 
coming  to- 
war  dt  R. 
Leddra  on 
steps. 


child.]  1  There,  Stephen,  look  at  him,  and  remem- 
ber him  all  your  life!  He  saved  your  father  from 
going  to  his  grave  up  there  in  the  ice  and  snow! 
Yes,  that  you  have!  [Hysterically.]  You've 
saved  my  husband's  life ! 

GUISE.     [Very  much  amused.]  2 
Midge,  I've  saved  a  man's  life !  * 

SYB.4 

Why  don't  you  save  your  own? 

GuisE.5    [Turns  to  MRS.  LEDDRA,6  who  is  sobbing.] 

Come,  my  dear  lady,  bear  up!  If  your  husband's 
life  is  saved,  you  needn't  indulge  in  this  violent  sor- 
row about  it.7 

MRS.    LEDD.     [Unsuspectingly.]  8 

Sorrow !  Your  Grace,  I'm  beside  myself  with  joy ! 
Oh,  your  Grace,  I've  had  no  peace  since  Steve  threat- 
ened to  go !  I've  had  such  dreams — oh,  your  Grace ! 
May  you  never  have  such  dreams  as  I've  had ! 

GUISE.9 

I  trust  not!    I  trust  not! 
LEDDRA.I()      [She  is  sobbing  on  his  shoulder. 

There!  There!  Hold  your  peace,  Hester!  Don't 
take  any  notice  of  her,  your  Grace.  She  can't  help 
it !  She's  only  a  woman,  and  she's  fond  of  me  and 
the  children — that's  what  makes  her  so  foolish — 
she's  fond  of  me — that's  what  it  is.  Your  Grace — 
our  best  hearty  thanks. 

[The  people  have  gradually  gone  into  the 
meeting-houte.] 

LEDDRA.   [going    into    the    meeting-house11    with 
DAVID.] 

Well,  David,  what  do  you  think  of  his  Grace's 
promise  ? 

38 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT    I 


DAVID. 

His  promise!     [Looks  at  GUISE.]     Wait  and  see 
whether  he  keeps  it ! 

[All  the  people  have  gone  into  the  meeting- 
house, leaving  GUISE,  CRAKE  and  SYB.] 

GuiSE.1  [Watching  the  people  going  into  the  meet" 
ing-h'ouse.] 

Poor  devils!    They  take  life  very  seriously! 

SYB.2 

Three-fourths  of  the  world  do,  that  the  other  fourth 
may  see  what  a  splendid  jest  it  is ! 3 


Goes  up  o. 


CRAKE.4 

Duke,  will  you  follow  me  into  figures? 

GuiSE.5 

I'd  rather  not — anywhere  but  there,  Crake.  Arith- 
metic is  so  relentless. 

CRAKE.6 

Your  Grace,  excuse  my  putting  it  plainly — if  you 
build  this  breakwater,  you'll  beggar  yourself. 

GUISE.7 

My  good  Crake,  what  is  a  landlord  for,  except  to 
beggar  himself  for  his  tenants?  I  know  my  duty, 
Crake.  I  very  rarely  do  it,  but  I  yield  to  no  man  in 
knowing  it ! 

CRAKE.8 

Will  you  tell  me  how  the  money  is  to  be  raised  ? 

GUISE.9 

That's  what  I  want  you  to  do.  You  shall  have  a 
bottle  of  my  grandfather's  port  at  dinner  to-night, 
and  then  yon  shall  tell  me  how  it  is  to  be  raised.  Go 

39 


•L.  a 


"L.C. 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Crake  goes  up 
to     L.    c.    B. 
speaking 
speech  and 
exit.       Sybil 
hops  down  c. 

1  Duke  goes  K. 
»  L.  c.  K. 


•  Comes    down 
to  Guise  c. 


7  Stop  Harmo- 
nium. 


1  Sitting  on 
rock  R.  c. 


•c. 


and  take  another  look  at  the  place,  and  see  what  this 
young  Christison  has  been  doing.1 

[SYB.,  who  has  been  up  stage,  hops  down  to  GUISE.]  * 
CRAKE.     {Going  off.]  3 

If  I'd  been  wise  I  should  have  left  him  ten  years  ago, 
but  I  suppose  I  shall  be  fool  enough  to  stay  till  the 
smash  comes.  [Exit,4 

SYB.5 

I  want  to  ask  you  a  question. 


GUISE.6 


Well? 


SYB. 
Why  are  you  such  a  hypocrite  ?  T 

GUISE. 
Am  I  a  hypocrite? 

SYB. 


Yes.     You  pretend  to  be  a  great  deal  worse  than 
you  are. 

GUISE.8 


Most  people  pretend  to  be  a  great  deal  better  than 
they  are,  so  somebody  must  restore  the  moral  bal- 
ance. But  you  don't  know  what  a  bad  fellow  I  am, 
Midge. 

SYB.9 

Yes,  I  do.  You  are  bad — but  you  aren't  half  so  bad 
as  you  think  you  are.  I've  found  you  out  in  lots  of 
good  deeds,  and  you  always  do  them  and  seem 
ashamed  of  them.  You're  kind;  you're  truthful; 
you  don't  slander  anybody — except  yourself — and 
you  are  brave. 

40 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  I 


Brave — am  I? 


GUISE. 
SYB. 


If  you  hadn't  been  brave  you  wouldn't  have  rushed 
in  and  picked  me  from  under  the  horses'  feet  ten 
years  ago — You  would  have  let  them  trample  me  to 
death  instead  of  only  laming  me  for  life,  and  curdl- 
ing my  wits. 

GUISE. 

They  were  my  horses,  and  it  was  my  infernal  groom 
that  put  you  behind  them.  I  couldn't  stop  myself — 
it  was  mere  impulse — and  sometimes  I've  asked  my- 
self whether  it  was  a  kindness  to  save  you. 

[Looking  at  her  crutches. 

SYB. 

What  does  it  matter?  I  don't  mind  it.  At  least,  so 
long  as  people  don't  pity  me.  At  first  I  used  to  lie 
all  night  and  beat  my  fists  against  the  wall  in  agony 
— But  now 


Now? 


GUISE. 
SYB. 


Now  I've  found  out  that  the  world  was  not  con- 
structed for  the  sole  purpose  of  making  me  happy. 
And  besides,  perhaps  some  day  I  shall  pull  you 
out  from  under  the  horses'  feet. 


What  horses  ? 


GUISE. 
SYB. 


Don't  you  know?     Can't  you  see  where  you  are 
driving? 

GUISE. 
No. 

SYB. 
Why  not  pull  up  ? 


VI.  Call. 
Drusilla  Ives. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


GUISE. 

I  can't,  Midge.  I've  got  my  life  into  a  horrible 
mess,  and  it's  too  much  bother  to  get  it  straight  now. 

SYB. 
Doesn't  your  conscience  plague  you  sometimes? 

GUISE. 

No.  I  suppose  I've  got  a  conscience,  but  it's  rusty — 
the  works  have  stopped.  What  does  it  matter? 
The  world  wasn't  constructed  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  making  me  good. 

SYB. 
Suppose  life  should  be  serious  after  all ! 

GUISE. 
My  dear  Midge,  don't  preach  at  me ! 

SYB. 

I  won't ;  preaching  won't  tame  wild  horses.  [Hops 
up  the  cliff. ]  I'll  wait  till  they're  trampling  you 
under  their  feet.  [Exit.1 

GUISE.     [Looks  after  her,  turns  round,  fills  pipe.] 

Suppose  life  should  be  serious  after  all!  What  a 
jest  it  would  be! 

[DRUSILLA  creeps  out  of  meeting-house.]  * 

DRUS. 
Guise ! 

GUISE.3 

What  mischief  now  ? 

DRUS. 
Catch  me! 

GUISE. 
Come  then! 

[She  jumps  into  his  arms.^j 
42 


1  L.  U.  E. 


J  Stands  on 
rock  in  front 
of  meeting- 
house. 


*  Jumps  up, 
looks  round. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   I 


.  DRUS.1 

Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come !  I've  had  three  awful 
weeks!  These  people  are  so  good,  and  so  stupid! 
They'll  kill  me!  I'm  simply  dying  of  goodness. 
Two  more  ounces  of  goodness,  and  I'm  dead ! 


Don't  be  alarmed! 


GUISE.2 


DRUS.3 


You'll  catch  it!  It's  in  the  air.  The  long  faces 
they  pull,  the  dresses  they  wear,  the  way  they  talk, 
the  books  they  read — oh,  so  good,  oh,  so  stupid! 
And  the  things  they  think  sinful !  Living  is  sinful ! 
Loving  is  sinful !  Breathing  is  sinful !  Eating  and 
drinking  are  sinful!  Flowers  are  sinful!  Every- 
thing is  sinful !  Oh,  so  good !  Oh,  so  stupid !  And 
the  time  they  give  to  their  prayers,  and  their  harmo- 
niums !  There's  an  epidemic  of  harmoniums !  And 
the  way  they  spend  their  Sundays!  Oh,  so  good! 
Oh,  so  stupid !  4  How's  everything  and  everybody 
in  London  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self? Have  you  missed  me?  Have  you  brought 
my  dear  old  Bully  Boy? 

GUISE.5 

Yes,  I've  brought  the  dog.    He's  fond  of  me. 


Guise 


Nothing. 
yourself. 


DRUS. 
what's  the  matter  with  you? 

GUISE. 
Tell  me  what  you've  been  doing  with 

DRUS. 


Going  to  meeting;  pulling  a  long  face;  chaffing  my 
father  and  sister  up  my  sleeve;  wondering  how  on 
earth  they  came  to  be  my  father  and  sister;  boring 

43 


•  Changing  her 
tone  sudden- 
ly. 


*  Foot  on  rock, 
looking  at 
her,  elbow  on 
knee. 


ACT   I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


myself;  sighing  a  little  for  you — no£  much,  and 
making  that  boy  John  Christison  fall  madly  in  love 
with  me. 

GUISE. 


VII.  Call. 
John  Christi- 
ton. 


1  Crossing  L. 


*  Running  up 
c.  pointing 

OffR. 


*  Going   up  to 
her,  looking 
offR. 


^ 


You  shouldn't  do  that. 


DRUS. 

Shouldn't  make  people  fall  in  love  with  me?  Oh,  I 
must. 

GUISE. 
You  should  remember 

DRUS. 
What? 

GUISE,     [with  much  quiet  tenderness.] 
How  deeply  I'm  attached  to  you. 
DRUS. 

So's  John  Christison!  And  he  can  make  love — in 
his  way.  You  can't  make  love  as  he  does. 

GUISE. 

The  devil  take  John  Christison ! 1 
DRUS. 

Ah,  you're  jealous !  You  needn't  be !  But  are  you 
attached  to  me,  Guise? 

GUISE. 

Am  I  attached  to  you?  I  met  you,  Di,  when  I  was 
thirty.  If  you'd  been  another  sort  of  woman,  Di,  I 
should  have  been  another  sort  of  man.  I  wonder 
what  my  life  would  have  been  without  you? 

DRUS.2 

Very  dull.     You've  bought  me  that  yacht?2 

GUISE.3 

Yes.     Have  you  ever  had  a  wish,  a  caprice  that  I 
44 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT    I 


haven't  gratified  ?    Haven't  I  done  every  mad  thing 
that  you  asked  me  ?  1 


DRUS.     [She  is  putting  flower  in  his  coat.~\ 

Suppose  for  once  I  asked  you  to  do  something  sens- 
ible? 

GUISE. 

Well? 

DRUS.     [After  a  pause,  drops  her  eyes,  then  glances 
up  at  him  furtively. ]2 

I  read  in  one  of  the  weekly  papers  that  I  am  to  be 
the  Duchess  of  Guisebury. 

GUISE.     [Startled.]  3 
My  dear  Di,  don't  be  absurd ! 

DRUS.4 

I  read  it  in  the  paper,  Guise.  Why  is  it  absurd? 
I've  been  thoroughly  educated.  I've  been  asked  to 
several  very  good  houses.  And  then  my  family — 
sound  Quaker  stock  on  both  sides  for  two  hundred 
years — you  couldn't  have  better  breeding  than  that ! 
And  no  cosmetics  but  the  sea  and  wind!  Guise,  I 
could  play  the  part  to  perfection ! B 

GUISE. 

My  dear  child,  don't  ask  for  the  one  thing  I  cannot 
give  you. 

DRUS. 

You  won't?  Very  well — [Bites  her  lip.]  Heigho!6 
[GuiSE.  stands,  looking  glum  and  thoughtful.]  7 

What's  the  matter  with  you?  What  makes  you  so 
serious? 

GUISE.8 

Suppose  life  should  be  serious  after  all!9 


1  Leading  her 
dovon  to  rock 
R.  c. 


1  Sitting  on 
rock  R.  c. 


1  Sitting  on 
rock  R.  c. 


4  Pufs    her 
hand  on  his. 


8  Rising. 


•  Moving  L.  c. 


ACT  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


DRUS. 

Don't  suppose  anything  so  dreadful.  They'll  be 
coming  out  of  meeting  soon.  [Creeps  up  to  meeting- 
house door,  looks  in.]  Oh,  the  Captain  is  preach- 
ing! That  means  forty  minutes  at  least!  And  on 
such  a  lovely  moonlight  night  too ! 1 

[JOHN  creeps  stealthily  out  of  the  meeting- 
house door  and  hides  behind  a  shrub.]  2 

I've  been  practicing  a  new  dance,  a  shadow  dance. 
Shall  I  show  you  ?  3 

[DRUS.  carefully  looks  all  round,  takes  up 
her  skirts,  gives  one  or  two  turns,  and 
catches  sight  of  John's  face  watching 
her  through  the  shrubs,  stops  suddenly.] 


1  Comes  down 
to  him  on  his 
R. 


'  Mutic. 


JOHN. 
DRUS. 

DUKE. 


JOHN.     [Advancing.] 
Woman!    What  art  thou?! 

CURTAIN. 
I  Two  years  between  Act  i  and  2.] 


46 


ACT  II. 


Garden  Drop 


French  Window 


Arch 


What  not 


Table 


Door 


rm  Chair 


;-Place 


O 

Stool 


Sofa 


L 


I.  Call. 
Ooldspink. 
John  Christi- 
son 
Drusilla  Ives. 


Music. 


4  R.  taking 
John's  hat. 

•  Upc. 


•  R.  C. 


Upc. 


•  Distressfully 
turning  to 
fireplace  R. 


10  In  amaze' 
ment. 


ACT  II. 

[DIANA  VALROSE'S  boudoir  at  Richmond. 
A  very  elegantly  furnished  room,  with 
light,  pretty  furniture.  Discover  DRU- 
SILLA in  handsome  morning  dress  ar- 
ranging flowers  in  large  china  bozvl.1 
Enter  Footman,2  announcing  MR. 
CHRISTISON.  Enter  JOHN.S  Exit  Foot- 
man.4 

DRUS  ** 
Well,  friend  John! 

JOHN.6 

Your  father  and  Faith  are  in  London. 

DRUS.T 
I  know — they've  written  to  me. 

JOHN.8 

They're  searching  everywhere  for  you.  I've  been 
with  them  the  last  three  days  pretending  to  help  them 
find  you,  throwing  them  off  your  track — deceiving 
them,  lying,  lying  at  every  step.9 

DRUS. 
How  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you ! 

JOHN.10 

Kind  and  thoughtful ! 
48 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


To  me  and  to  them, 
the  truth  about  me. 
understand  me. 


DRUS.1 

It  would  pain  them  to  know 
My  father  and  sister  do  not 


JOHN.2 

Who  does  understand  you?  I  don't.  What  made 
you  bring  me  up  to  London?  Why  have  you  kept 
me  here  for  nearly  two  years — feeding  me  with  false 
hopes  and  promises — making  me  eat  the  bread  of 
idleness  and  deceit,  till  there  isn't  a  sound  place  in 
me  ?  Why  have  you  done  it  ?  Why  ? — You  do  not 
love  me ! 

DRUS.     [Very  seductive.]  3 

How  do  you  know  that  I  do  not  love  you,  friend 
John?4 

JOHN. 

Love  me!    Oh,  it  would  be  horrible!     It  would  be 
past  grace  and  mercy  for  you  and  me  to  love  each 
other  after — this.     [Looking  round  the  room.]  5 
After  all — after  what  I  know  of  you.    And  yet 

[Coming  up  to  her,  fiercely  seizing  her  hands. 
Do  you  love  me  ? 

DRUS.6 

You've  never  gone  the  right  way  to  make  me  love 
yon.  I  like  you — when  you're  not  in  one  of  these 
moral  fits.  When  you're  moral,  you're  dull  and 
tiresome,  friend  John!  You  are  really.7  Why 
don't  you  take  things  more  quietly?  What  harm 
has  been  done? 


What  harm? 
left  Endellion? 

4 


JOHN.8 

How  have. I  passed  my  time  since  I 
49 


1  Coming  down 
c. 


•  Going  to  tofa 
L. 


•  L  o  o  k  »  lan- 
guishingly  at 
him,  and 
turns  away. 


•  Drusilla    sits 
on  lounge  L. 


•  Rise,  cro*»  R., 
getting  away 
from  him. 


1  Looking-glau 
over  mantel 
R.  Goes  up  to 
looking-glass 
R.  looks  at 
herself  in  it. 

•c. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


1  R.  crossing 
back  of  table 
to  piano  L. 

II.  Call. 

Duke  of  Guise- 
bury. 

Goldspink. 
Bully-boy. 
Reginald 
Slingsby. 

*  c.  going  R. 


»  Drusilla  goes 
to  piano  L. 


1  Playing 
piano  softly. 


5  Crossing  L.  c. 

6  Sits  on  sofa, 
stares   in 
front  of  him. 


7  Plays  a  brill- 
iant passage, 
stops,    turns 
on  music 
stool. 

*  On  sofa  L.  c. 


*  PI  a y s  sad 
strain  softly. 
Plays  "  Old 
Hundred." 


10  Kneels  R.  of 
him. 


DRUS.1 

You  came  to  London  to  superintend  the  plans  for 
the  breakwater,  and  the  Duke  appointed  you  over- 
looker at  two  hundred  a  year. 

JOHN.2 

I've  taken  the  money,  and  I've  not  done  one  hour's 
work  for  it.3  I've  lied  to  my  dead  father!  I've 
broken  my  promise  to  him! 

DRUS.4 

You  mean  you  haven't  kept  it  at  present.  There's 
plenty  of  time. 

JOHN.5 

Yes — there's  plenty  of  time  to  repent — hereafter !  6 
DRUS. 

Friend  John,  you  are  very  foolish — why  should  you 
trouble  yourself  ?  7  Tell  me  about  my  father  and 
Faith. 

JOHN.8 

They  are  terribly  distressed  because  they  cannot 
find  you.  Your  father  seems  broken-hearted. 

DRUS. 

Why  couldn't  they  stay  at  Endellion!  The  climate 
and  the  meeting-house  suited  them  so  well ! 9 

[Comes  up  to  him,  puts  her  hand  on  his 

shoulder,  caressingly.'] 
Friend  John,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  little  favor.10 


What? 


JOHN. 
DRUS. 


Persuade  them  there  has  been  some  mistake,  and  get 
50 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


them  quietly  back  to  Endellion.  When  they  are  at 
home  I'll  write  and  explain  everything  to  my  father. 
I'll  find  some  good  excuse.0 — He'll  believe  me !  For 
the  sake  of  old  times,  John.1  It  will  be  kind  to 
spare  them  anxiety  about  me.  I'm  really  not  so 
bad  as  you  think  me- — I'm  really  not  indeed — will 
you,  John? 

JOHN. 
You  know  I  shall  do  whatever  you  ask  me ! 2 


DRUS.S 


Thank  you,  friend  John. 
Here's  the  Duke ! 


[GuiSE  passes  the  window.4 

JOHN.5 


I  want  to  see  him. 


DRUS.6 


Very  well,  I'll  leave  you  to  him.7  And,  John,  you'll 
tell  them  some  pretty  little  fairy  tale,  and  get  them 
comfortably  off  home,,  eh  ? 

JOHN.8 

Yes.  I'll  keep  up  the  lies  now  I've  begun  them.  Oh, 
I'm  lost  anyhow. 

DRUS.9 

Yes,  friend  John,  we  are  lost ! 10     But  never  mind- 
we  shall  be  in  very  good  company !  [Exit. 

JOHN.12 

If  I  could  break  off  your  chains!     If  I  could! 
[Enter  GUISE.]  13 

GUISE.  14 
Ah,  Mr.  Christison! 


11 


0  At  back  of 
sofa. 


1  Behind   sofa, 
her  arms 
round  him. 


*  Kneeling  on 

sofa. 

Trying  to  re- 
turn caress, 
Drus.  moves 
away  to  R.  c. 

*  Crossing  R.  c. 

4  Crossing 
from  L.  to  R. 


5  Rising,  mov- 
ing up  c.  a 
little. 


•  Runs  to  door 


Coming   back 
to  John  c. 


•  c.  Bitterly. 


9  Dolefully  im- 
itating him. 

10  Laughing 
merrily. 

11  Exit  hum- 
ming    "  Old 
Hundred," 
L.  door. 

11  L.  c.  looking 
after  her. 


14  c.  Giving 
hand. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


*  Not  noticing 
hand. 


1  Crossing  L.  c. 

*  Sitting  on 
sofa. 

•B.  c. 


JOHN.1 

Your  Grace,  I  wish  to  speak  about  the  salary  you've 
allowed  me. 

GUISE. 
The  last  quarter  hasn't  been  paid. 

JOHN. 
I  don't  want  your  money.    I'm  sorry  I  took  it. 


Why? 

I've  not  earned  it. 


GUISE. 
JOHN. 
GUISE. 


That's  a  very  absurd  reason  for  not  taking  it,  Mr. 
Christison.  However,  I'll  respect  your  scruples. 
You  needn't  be  under  any  further  apprehension 
about  being  paid.2  Is  there  anything  else  ?  3 

JOHN.4 

Yes!  Two  years  ago  you  spoke  of  beginning  the 
breakwater  at  Endellion,  and  I  was  to  work  under 
you  and  for  you.  There's  not  a  stone  been  laid 
since.  I  don't  understand  your  feelings — but  I 
know  what  my  own  are  every  night  as  I  lay  my 
head  upon  my  pillow  and  think,  "  Another  day  gone, 
and  I've  done  nothing  to  redeem  my  promise."  I 
thought  perhaps  your  feelings  might  be  something 
like  mine. 

GUISE.     [Touched.] 

You're  right,  Mr.  Christison!  I've  allowed  two 
years  to  go  by,  and  I've  done  nothing  to  keep  my 
word!  You're  right!  And  I've  sacrificed  thoso 
men's  lives ! 

JOHN. 

Are  you  sure  they've  perished  ? 
52 


A<:T 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


Rising. 


GUISE. 

They've  given  up  all  hope  at  the  Admiralty.  You've 
nothing  more  to  say,  Mr.  Christison  ? 1 

JOHN. 

No,  Duke.  As  soon  as  I  am  able,  I  shall  go  back 
to  Endellion  and  get  on  with  the  work  as  well  as  I 
can.  I  shan't  trouble  your  Grace  any  further  about 
it. 

GUISE. 
Very  well,  Mr.  Christison. 


[Rings  bell?' 


JOHN.3 

Your  Grace,  David  Ives  is  in  London. 


GUISE. 


Indeed ! 


[Exit  JOHN."* 

[ GUISE  alone,  takes  several  turns  about  the 
room,  his  walk,  mien  and  gesture  indi- 
cate supreme  self -contempt,  his  eyes  on 
floor,  bites  his  thumb,  kicks  the  footstool 
savagely,  sits  on  sofa;  finds  the  cushion 
uncomfortable,  pitches  it  about,  reclines 
again,  finds  it  still  more  uncomfortable, 
pitches  it  the  other  end  of  the  room  and 
breaks  an  old  China  bowl6  which  drops 
in  pieces  and  falls  on  floor.'] 

I  suppose  there  is  some  poor  devil  somewhere  that's 
in  a  worse  all-round  mess  than  I  am!  But  if  there 
is,  I  should  like  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and  ask 
him  how  he  feels. 

[Gets  up  savagely,  walks  across  the  room,  walks  in- 
to back  room,  looks  out  of  window.] 

Hillo,  Bully  Boy — what  is  it,  old  chap? 

[Opens  the  French  window;  admits  a  ferocious  look- 
ing, ugly  bulldog.] 
53 


*  On  table  R.  c. 


*  Goes    wp     to 
door  R.,  then 
turns  to 
Quite. 


*  China  bowl  is 
on  pedestal 
up  c. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


1  Brings  him 
down.. 

*  Gets  him  on 
sofa. 


R.  Regy  keeps 
hat  on. 


6  Crosses  c. 


'  Crosses  to  him 
and  shakes 
hands  c. 


1  Guise  crosses 
to  servant,  R. 
c. 


Come  in,  old  boy ! l  Sit  up  there !  2  I  like  you, 
Bully  Boy !  There's  a  splendid  absence  of  all  moral 
squeamishness  about  that  ugly  old  mug  of  yours! 
Birds  of  a  feather,  eh,  old  boy?  I'm  a  bad  lot, 
but  you  don't  mind  that,  do  you?  [Caressing 
the  dog.]  You  love  me,  don't  you,  as  much  as 
if  I  were  a  paragon  pattern  of  all  the  virtues.  I'm 
in  a  devilish  scrape,  Bully  Boy !  I've  come  nearly  to 
the  end  of  my  tether!  I  broke  my  word  to  those 
poor  beggars !  I  let  them  join  that  cursed  Arctic  Ex- 
pedition, and  there  they  they  are,  up  there,  making  a 
cold  supper  for  the  Polar  bears !  How  would  you 
feel,  Bully  Boy,  if  you  had  sent  a  dozen  poor  beg- 
gars to  Kingdom  Come?  You  wouldn't  mind, 
would  you?  And  why  should  I?  I've  ruined  my- 
self for  her,  Bully  Boy,  and  now  she's  growing  tired 
of  me !  Strange,  isn't  it !  A  few  shillings  will  buy 
a  faithful  dog,  but  all  the  money  in  the  world  won't 
buy  a  faithful  woman ! 

[Enter  Servant 3  announcing  MR.  SLINGSBY. 
REGY  enters*  Servant  then  goes  up 
and  takes  the  dog.] 

GUISE. 

Well  Regy,  this  is  a  surprise!5 
REGY. 

Yes.6  They  told  me  you  called  the  other  day,  but 
I  wasn't  at  home,  so  as  I  was  driving  by  to-day  I 
thought  I'd  give  you  a  look  up. 

GUISE. 

Thanks.7  [To  servant,  who  is  going  off  with  dog.]  8 
Where  are  you  taking  that  dog? 

SERV.9 

I  beg  pardon,  your  Grace,  Miss  Valrose  said  he  was 
to  be  sent  up  to  town. 
54 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


»L.C. 


8  Standing  c. 


GUISE. 

Oh,  very  well,  I'll  take  him  back  to  town  with  me 
to-night.  Poor  Bully  Boy!  She's  getting  tired  of 
you  too,  is  she? 

{Exit  SERV.  with  Dog.] l 

REGY.2 

Well,  Guise,  what  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self all  the  while? 

GUISE.3 

Playing  the  fool,  and  scandalizing  society. 
REGY. 

Did  you  see  that  article  in  yesterday's  Trafalgar 
Square  Gazette  on  "  The  decline  of  our  Aristoc- 
racy ?  "  They  did  give  it  you  hot. 

GUISE.4 

Ah ! 5  I  met  the  editor  a  few  months  ago,  and  he 
assured  me  that  when  he  writes  about  the  black- 
guard Duke  our  differences  are — like  Satan  and 
Michael's — merely  political!  What  did  the  article 
say  of  me?  [Sits  on  sofa.2 

REGY.6 

That  the  spectacle  of  your  career  has  hastened  the 
downfall  of  the  House  of  Lords  by  twenty  years.7 

GUISE. 

Well.9  What  more  do  the  Radicals  want?  And 
yet  the)7''ve  never  given  me  a  testimonial!  What 
have  you  been  doing  with  yourself,  Regy? 

[REGY  rises  solemnly  with  the  air  of  making 
a   most  important   communication,  takes 
off  hat,  goes  to  him.] 
55 


4  c.  crossing  L.  c 


*  Sitting  on 
sofa. 


1  Sits  L.  of 
table  R.  c. 


8  Taking  cigar- 
ette from 
packet  on 
table  L.  of 
sofa. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


•uo. 


*  Sits  on  edge 
of  table  n.  c. 


REGY.1     Very  solemnly. 

Guise — I  tell  you  this — things  are  coming1  to  a 
crisis. 

GUISE.2 

Yes,  Regy.  I've  lived  in  one  chronic  crisis  ever 
since  I  left  Eton !  Why  don't  you  ask  her  to  name 
the  day,  and  get  it  all  over? 

REGY. 

Not  if  I  know  it.3  While  there's  life  there's  hope — 
and  Lady  Poperoach — 

[With  a  mysterious,  threatening  manner.'} 

had  better  not  drive  me  to  bay !  That's  my  candid 
advice  to  Lady  Poperoach — "  Don't  drive  me  to 
bay!" 

GUISE.4 

What  should  you  do,  Regy? 
REGY. 

Well,  don't  let  Lady  Poperoach  drive  me  to  bay, 
that's  all! — Guise,  if  I  ask  you  a  plain,  straight- 
forward question,  will  you  give  me  a  plain,  straight- 
forward answer  ? 

GUISE. 
Rely  on  me,  Regy. 

REGY.5 

Will  you  tell  me  what  the  devil  I  wanted  to  go  and 
tie  myself  up  to  Isabel  Poperoach  for?  That's  what 
I  want  to  know.  I'd  everything  I  wanted — nicest 
little  bachelor's  quarters  in  London,  nobody  to  bully- 
rag me,  or  order  me  about — What  did  I  do  it  for? 


•  Smoking 
quietly. 


'Bring*  chair 
to  R.  of  tofa. 


Well,  why  did  you  ? 


GUISE. 


REGY. 


Because  I  was  a  silly  fool — that's  why !    There's  no 
other  reason. 

56 


ACT  II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


Well- 


GUISE, 
-that  seems  sufficient. 


REGY.     [Continuing,  taking  no  notice  of  GUISE.] 

Some  people  want  to  get  married — very  well,  let 
them !  Let  them  go  in  and  get  married  forty  times 
over !  I  don't  interfere  with  them !  *  Why  should 
I  be  dragged  like  a  victim  to  the  slaughter  ? 

GUISE. 

Just  so,  Regy — why  should  you? 
REGY. 

It's  hard  lines  on  a  fellow,2  isn't  it,  Guise?  It's 
devilish  hard  lines !  What  would  you  advise  me  to 
do?3 

GUISE. 
I  should  get  married. 

REGY.     [Disgusted.] 

Get  married!  Oh,  hang  it  all,  Guise — I  didn't  ex- 
pect this  from  you !  No,  candidly,  what  would  you 
advise  me  to  do?  Eh? 

GUISE.     [Yawns:'] 
I  should  not  get  married.4 

REGY.     [Shakes  hands  with  him.'} 

Thank  you  old  fellow,  thank  you.  I  knew  I  might 
rely  on  you.  But.5  I  say — how  am  I  to  get  out 
of  it,  eh  ? 

GUISE. 

That's  it,  Regy !    How  are  we  to  get  out  of  it  ? 
REGY. 

You!     You  haven't  been  and  landed  yourself! 

57 


1  Rises. 


*  Crossing      R. 
and  back   to 


•  Standing  c. 


*  Lying  on 
so/a  head  up 
stage. 


*  Comes  and 
sits  by  Guise. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


1  Rises  and  re- 
places chair. 


1  Regy  crosses 

tOR. 


III.  Call. 
Goldspink. 
Sybil  Crake. 
Mrs.  Crake. 
David  Ives. 
Faith  Ives. 
John  Christi- 
son. 


GUISE. 

Yes,  in  no  end  of  a  mess !  Debts,  difficulties,  duns, 
unfulfilled  engagements  everywhere — all  the  Dane- 
court  property  under  water  with  these  floods — no 
rents — no  money no  self-respect — no  nothing! 

REGY.     [Cheerfully.'} 

Poor  old  Guise!  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  you,  I  am 
indeed.  But — I  say,  Guise,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  * 

GUISE. 

Why  not  marry  her  ?  2  It  couldn't  be  worse  than 
the  life  we've  lived  for  the  last  fifteen  years!  The 
other  Saturday  night  I  sat  in  that  big  house  of  mine 
alone  till  I  felt  that  if  I  stayed  five  minutes  longer  I 
should  get  out  my  pistols  and  blow  my  brains  out. 
Well,  I  went  out,  and  I  got  amongst  some  people 
marketing — I  watched  some  little  cad  and  his  wife 
buying  their  Sunday's  dinner  with  four  squalling, 
snub-nosed  brats  hanging  round  them !  He  was 
happy — that  little  cad !  I  wonder  what  grudge 
Providence  had  against  me  to  give  me  a  title  and 
thirty  thousand  a  year,  instead  of  making  me  a 
greasy  little  cad  like  that ! 

[REGY3  supremely  occupied  with  his  own  con- 
cerns.'] 

What  I  ask  myself  is  this — what's  the  object  of  my 
getting  married?  That's  what  I  want  to  know! 
Where  does  the  joke  come  in  ?  4  What  shall  I  have 
to  show  for  it? 

GUISE. 

What  have  we  both  got  to  show  for  it  as  it  is  ?  That 
little  cad  had  his  wife  and  children's  love,  and  his 
shoulder  of  mutton  and  his  onions.  And  he  -was 
happy! 5 

REGY. 

Happy  be  hanged !    All  women  are  alike ! 
58 


*  Extreme  R., 
strikes  match 
—cigarette. 


*  Comes  R.  c., 
still    self-oc- 
cupied. 


*  Lief  down  on 
sofa  L.  c. 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


GUISE. 

That's  the  last  cursed  word  of  cynicism.  All  women 
are  alike.  And  the  devil  of  it  is — it's  true!  That 
is  its  true  for  such  men  as  you  and  I.  [With  a 
chuckle.}  My  God,  Regy,  what  a  farce  of  a  world 

it  is! 

REGY. 

It  is,  old  boy.  But  I  stick  to  my  Goschens — oh 
dear,  yes!  I've  got  a  nice  little  fifteen  thousand  a 
year,  dear  old  fellow — just  keeps  me  going.  But 
I  say,  old  fellow,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ? 

GUISE. 

Everything.  Crake  has  left  me.  She's  tired  of  me.1 
And  those  poor  beggars  who  went  with  that  fool 
Curgenven  to  find  the  North  Pole — they're  lost, 
Regy!2 

REGY.3 

Well,  what  the  devil  could  they  expect?  Suppose 
they  do  find  the  North  Pole — what  the  deuce  is  the 
good  of  it?  It's  no  business  of  yours. 

GUISE.4 

I  never  missed  a  night's  sleep  in  my  life  till  lately. 
Now,  every  night,  just  as  I'm  falling  off,  my  heart 
gives  a  kind  of  a  start.  Perhaps  I  doze  off  again 
for  a  few  minutes.  Another  start — and  then  I'm 
wide  awake  and  going  through  every  detail  of  the 
Arctic  Expedition.5  Up  to  83  North,  going  all 
through  the  plans  of  the  Endellion  breakwater  6 — 
and  there  I  lie,  hour  after  hour,  night  after  night, 
just  the  same !  And  when  at  last  I  drop  off,  they're 
at  me  again — thousands  and  thousands  of  poor  lank, 
starved  wretches  with  their  faces  gray  and  pinched 
like  corpses ;  and  their  limbs  dropping  off  with  gran- 
grene  and  frostbite,  hanging  over  me  in  my  sleep.7 

REGY.8 

Put  on  you  hat,  dear  old  boy,  and  go  to  a  doctor. 

59 


1  Rises,  crosses 


'Looking  into 
fire,  sitting 
on  armchair 
R 


*  Staring  into 
fire. 


6  Sits  in  chair 
R.  of  table, 
traces  map 
on  hearth 
rug  with 
poker. 

9  Throws  down 
poker,  goes  to 
table.    Sits 
on    table,  el- 
bow on  knee. 


7  Goes  to  fire 
shivering, 
puts  hands 
out  to  fire. 

•  Seated  R.  c.  L. 
of  table. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


1  Crosses  to  L. 


*  Regy  rises 
goes  R.  c. 

*  Standing  c. 

1  Coming  back 
to  c. 

B  Standing, 
looking 
straight  be- 
fore him  c. 

•a.  c. 


1  Sitting  L.  of 
table. 


•  Looks  at  him 
one  moment, 
rises  from 
chair. 


10  Regy  turns 
away. 

11  Slaps  him  on 
the  oack ; 
Reav  begins 
to  look  un- 
easy. 

M  Looking  at 
Regy. 


GUISE.1 

I've  been.  Gave  me  sleeping  draughts.  Chloral, 
opium — I  took  them — tumbler  fulls  of  them.  No 
good.  Ordered  me  abroad.  I  went.  No  good. 
I've  tried  drink.*  I've  tried  everything.*  It's  no 

good,  Regy  my  boy.4  My  heart,  or  my  liver,  or 
my  conscience,  or  some  damned  thing  inside  of  me 

is  all  wrong,  and  I  don't  know  how  the  devil  to  get 
it  right ! 5 

6  REGY.     [Looks  at  him  half  critically,  half  com- 
passionately.] 

Let  me  tell  you  this,  my  dear  old  Guise — you'd  bet- 
ter take  care  of  yourself.  You're  in  a  bad  way. 

GUISE. 

I  know  I  am.  I  never  bothered  myself  about  duty 
and  conscience  and  all  that  grandmother's  stuff,  but 
I'm  damned,  Regy,  if  I  don't  begin  to  think  there's 
something  in  it  after  all !  7 

REGY.     [Cheerfully.] 8 

Wish  I  could  help  you,  dear  old  fellow — upon  my 
word  I  do.  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  you 

GUISE.9 

You  know,  Regy,  there  are  really  a  great  many 
natural  resources  in  Endellion,  and  if  any  thorough 
good-hearted  fellow  would  advance  the  money,  and 
would  take  a  small  risk,  I  believe  the  thing  would 
pay  itself  back  in  a  few  years.10  I  want  to  keep  my 
word,  Regy !  It  would  make  a  new  man  of  me.11  I 
wouldn't  take  a  shilling  for  myself.  It's  for  those 
poor  beggars.12  You  don't  happen  to  know  any 
thorough  good  fellow  who  would  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket,  eh? 

60 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


REGY.1 

Oh,  I'd  do  it  myself  for  you  with  pleasure,  dear  old 
fellow,  but  when  I  said  just  now  fifteen  thousand 
a  year  I  didn't  mean  fifteen  thousand  clear.  The 
fact  is,  when  the  charges  on  the  estate  are  paid,  it's 
not  much  over  six,  and  I've  got  so  many  calls.  In 
fact  my  life's  nothing  but  one  eternal  monotonous 
fork  out,  fork  out,  fork  out ! 

[Enter  Servant?  announcing  MR.  and  Miss 
CRAKE;  enter  CRAKE  and  SYBIL.3 
REGY  takes  out  his  watch  suddenly.] 

REGY. 

By  Jove !  I  had  to  be  back  in  Piccadilly  at  five !  4 
Ta,  ta,  old  fellow,  ta,  ta !  If  I  can  be  of  any  use  to 
you,  you  let  me  know.  [To  CRAKE  and  SYB.  as 
he  passes  them.]  How  d'ye  do?  How  d'ye  do? 

[Exit  very  hurriedly* 

CRAKE.6 


Ah,  Midge,  you 


You  received  my  note,  your  Grace? 
GUISE. 

Yes,   Crake.     [Shakes  hands.]  7 
haven't  forsaken  me,  then? 

SYB.S 

No,  I  always  come  to  your  funerals.  I  followed 
your  character  when  it  went  to  its  early  grave;  and 
when  you  broke  your  word  and  buried  your  self- 
respect — [ GUISE  winces.] — I  was  the  chief  mourner. 
To-day  we  are  going  to  bid  farewell  to  the  remains 
of  your  fortune,  and  when  the  little  that  is  left  of 
you  goes  to  its  last  home,  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  follow- 
ing. 

GUISE.9 

But  don't  shed  one  tear  over  me,  Midge — I'm  not 
worth  it. 

[Taking  her  hand.] 
61 


1  Very  tm- 
ecuy. 


»  R.  Sybil  walk* 
with  crutche*. 


•  Seizes  Quite' t 
hand. 


•  Coming  to 

Lhikec. 


1  Crake  goei  up 
c.  Sybil  comet 
to  Duke. 


•ua 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


SYB. 

No.     [Looking  at  bowl.]    You've  had  a  smash  here ! 
[Goes  up  to  the  broken  china  bowl,  picks  up 
the  pieces  and  is  all  through  the  inter- 
view trying  to  put  them  together.] 

GUISE.     [In  a  sharp  quick  tone.]  1 
Now,  Crake,  let's  get  this  over. 

CRAKE.2 

Your  Grace,  I  don't  want  to  prolong  it.  It's  a  bit- 
ter day  for  me.  [Takes  out  bunch  of  keys.]  There's 
the  strong  room,  that's  the  jewels,  those  are  the  deed 
boxes  at  the  Bank.  I've  been  through  everything 
with  the  new  steward.  I  hope  your  Grace  doesn't 
blame  me? 


Crossing  B. 


1  Coming  to  K. 
c. 


'  Leaning  on 
mantel  B. 


•  Turning  and 
giving  hand. 


No,  Crake. 


GUISE.3 


CRAKE. 


I  advised  your  Grace  for  the  best. 

GUISE. 
You  did,  Crake. 

CRAKE. 
There's  nothing  else,  your  Grace? 

GUISE. 

Nothing.  I've  already  thanked  you  for  your  faith- 
ful service.4  I  wish  I  had  deserved  it  better.  [Giv- 
ing hand.] 

CRAKE.    [Moved.] 
Don't  say  any  more,  your  Grace. 

[The  two  men  stand  with  hands  clasped  for 
some  moments.  CRAKE  speaks  with 
great  feeling,  very  low  tone  of  voice.] 

Good  day,  your  Grace. 
62 


ACT  II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


Music. 


GUISE. 
Good-bye,  Crake.     [Shakes  hands  very  cordially.] 

CRAKE. 
Come,  Sybil.1 

[Leaves  the  room  hurriedly*  much  affected. 
GUISE  stands  despondent.] 

SYB.     [Occupied  with  the  vase.]  3 

Yes — it's  smashed  all  to  pieces;  but  you  can  put  it 
together  again. 

What? 


GUISE.4 

SYB. 


This  bowl. 

[Leaves  it,  hops  down  to  him.]  5  And  your 
life.  [GuiSE  shrugs  his  shoulders, 
shakes  his  head  sadly.] 

Yes !  6  Look !  Of  course  it  will  never  be  the  same 
again,  but  it  will  hold  together.7  Oh,  why  don't 
you  pick  up  the  pieces  ? 

GUISE.8 

Too  late ! 

SYB.9 

No !    Try — try — Pick  up  the  pieces ! 

GUISE.10 

You'll  come  and  see  me  again,  Midge  ? 

SYB. 

Yes,  when  you  are  right  under  the  horses'  hoofs. 

[Exit  after  CRAKE.11  GUISE  goes  up  to  the 
table  rvhere  she  had  been  playing  with 
the  pieces,  puts  the  bowl  together.] 

GUISE.  12 

Yes,  the  pieces  will  join,  but  the  bowl  is  broken. 

63 


*  Coming  R.  c 


•  Going  to  bowl, 
holding  it  to- 
gether. 

7  Letting  it  fall 
asunder. 


•  Crossing  L.  c. 


•  Coming  down 
to  him. 


10  Taking  her 
hand. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


1  R.  Stop  Music. 


•B. 


•R.C. 


•R.C. 


7  Quite  showt 
surprite. 


•  Extreme  R. 


•L.C. 


»•  E.  c. 


[Enter  Servant.]  l 
SERV. 

Your  Grace,  there  are  two  people  in  the  hall  asking 
to  see  you.  The  man  says  his  name  is  David  Ives. 

GUISE.     [Showing  slight  surprise.] 

Show  them  in  here  and — [with  meaning  to  the 
Serv.] — When  they  are  here,  find  Miss  Valrose  and 
tell  her  that  Mr.  David  Ives  is  with  me  here.  [Exit 
Serv.]  2  David  Ives!  What  brings  him  here? 
Can  he  know? 

[Re-enter  Serv.  announcing  MR.  IVES,S 
DAVID  enters  followed  by  FAITH.  They 
look  round  the  room  with  great  curios- 
ity.] 


You  remember  me  ? 


DAVID.4 


GUISE.5 


Perfectly,  Mr.  Ives.  The  last  time  I  saw  you,  you 
reminded  me  that  my  neglect  had  lost  a  man's  life. 

DAVID.C 

Now  it  has  lost  another.7  More  than  two  years  ago 
you  brought  John  Christison  up  to  London.  You've 
kept  him  idling  here  ever  since.  When  shall  you 
have  done  with  him  ? 

[DRUS.  very  cautiously  appears  at  back 8 
and  stands  behind  the  curtains,  JOHN 
follows  her,  peeping  over  her  shoulders.] 

GUISE.9 

I've  done  with  him  now. 

DAVID.10 

Then  pay  him  his  wages  and  let  him  go.     I  don't 
understand  the  lad.     He  seems  lost  and  dazed.     I 
64 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc  i 


can't  get  him  back  to  Endellion  with  me.  What's 
the  reason? 

GUISE. 

Am  I  his  keeper?  I  believe  Mr.  Christison  intends 
leaving  London.  He  is  free  to  do  so.  He  is  his  own 
master. 

DAVID. 

No.  There's  somebody  up  here  in  London  who's 
got  the  mastery  over  John  Christison,  and  an  evil 
mastery  it  is !  Who  is  it  ? 

GUISE. 
It's  not  I,  Mr.  Ives. 

DAVID.1 

Who  is  it? 

GUISE. 

It  must  be  one  of  the  other  five  million  Londoners. 
You  had  better  ask  him  yourself. 

DAVID. 

I  will ! 2  You've  changed  the  lad's  nature.  You've 
made  him  like  yourself. 

GUISE. 
You  flatter  me !    How  ? 


DAVID.3 

He's  a  promise-breaker. 

[ GUISE  winces;  JOHN'S  face  shows  through 
the  curtain,  full  of  pain  and  shame.] 

But  when  the  sea  rakes  his  dead  father  out  of  his 
resting  place,  as  it  will  before  long,  perhaps  John 
Christison  will  remember  the  promise  he  gave,  and 
come  back  to  Endellion  and  fulfill  it. 

[JOHN'S  face  withdraws.] 

That's  all  I  have  to  say  to  you.     [Curtly,  going.] 
Good  morning.    Come,  Faith. 
5  65 


1  More  emphat 
ically  going 
to  Guise. 


1  Going  to 
door  B. 
turns  round. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


»  Putting 
Faith  R. 


•a 


FAITH. 

Good  morning,  your  Grace.  My  father  is  not  quite 
himself  to-day.  We've  been  beside  ourselves  with 
grief  the  last  few  days.  We  cannot  get  any  news 
of  my  sister  Drusilla.  She  is  not  at  the  place  where 
her  letters  are  sent.  We  fear  some  mischief  has 
happened  to  her. 

GUISE. 
I'm  sorry — I  hope  your  fears  are  groundless. 

DAVID.1    to  GUISE. 

What  business  is  it  of  yours  what  has  become  of 
my  child? 

GUISE.2 

Wait  here  a  few  minutes.  I  may  have  some  news 
that  will  surprise  you 

- 

{Exit  GuiSE,3  the  moment  he  has  left  JOHN 
comes  forward  from  behind  the  cur- 
tains.] 4 

JOHN.8 

David,  I've  heard  all  you  said.  There  was  someone 
in  London  who  had  a  mastery  over  me,  aad  an  evil 
mastery  it  was.  But  I'll  break  it — I'll  go  back  to 
Endellion  this  very  night. 

DAVID.6 

You  will?  Ah,  that's  the  John  Christison  I  knew! 
That's  the  lad  his  father  and  I  brought  up  after  our 
own  hearts.  The  lad  I  would  have  given  my 
Drusilla  to  for  wife ! 

JOHN. 

Don't  say  any  more.  Wait  till  I've  proved  myself. 
We'll  get  away  from  this  place.  You've  nothing 
more  to  do  here  ? 

66 


•Down  L.  a 
•L.C. 


•  R.  C.  Vf. 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


FAITH.1 

He  asked  us  to  wait  till  he  returned. 

JOHN. 

You'll  see  him  to-morrow.  Don't  stay  here.  Go! 
You  and  Faith — wait  a  little  while  along  the  road 
for  me — I'll  come  to  you  soon.  I  entreat  you,  don't 
stay.2 

FAITH.3 

You  won't  fail  us  ?    You'll  come  to  us  ? 

JOHN.4 

Yes.  I  have  one  thing  to  do  here  first — when  that 
is  done  I  shall  be  my  own  master.  Don't  ask  me 
any  more — go ! 

DAVID. 
Come,  Faith.     \Exit  DAVID.]  5 

FAITH. 

Oh,  you  have  made  our  hearts  rejoice.  Now  if  we 
could  but  find  Drusilla,  and  take  her  home  with  us — 
then  all  would  be  well. 

[JOHN  almost  pushes  FAITH  off  at  door,6 
shuts  it,  turns  round;  DRUSILLA,  enters 
from  between  the  curtains  from  other 
room.} 

DRUS.T 

That  was  splendidly  done,  friend  John.  Now  you 
will  get  them  home  to-night,  and  I'll  write  a  letter 
and  explain.  I  think  I  have  imagination  enough  for 
that!8 

[She  goes  up  to  window;  looks  out.]  ° 

They've  gone!  [Shows  relief.]  It's  really  a  shame 
to  fib  to  them,  but  what  can  one  do  ? 

[JOHN  has  stood  stern,10  and  fixed  nerving 
himself.] 

67 


1  R.  Up. 


*  David  goes  up 
toward  door. 
Faith  comes, 
to  John. 

»R.C. 


•c. 


»c.  up. 


•  John  moves 
down  R.  c. 

•TOR. 


»»  R.  c. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


JOHN.    [Calm,  stern,  strong.] 

Listen  to  me!  I  depart  from  London  to-night  for 
Endellion,  and  as  I  live,  I  will  never  return  to  you. 
Perhaps  I  shall  never  see  you  again ! 


1  Raising 
hand. 


'  Drawing  him 
back  c. 


•  Clinging  to 
him. 


Friend  John! 


DRUS. 
[Approaching  him.] 


JOHN.     [Repulsing  her.]  2 

Whether  your  father  and  sister  will  come  with  me 
I  cannot  tell.  But  they  will  surely  come  back  to 
Endellion  before  many  days.  You  know  what  I 
have  done,  how  I  have  lied  to  them  and  deceived 
them  to  keep  them  from  knowing  the  truth  about 
you.  From  this  time  forth  I  have  done  with  lies! 
I  will  not  betray  you.  If  they  ask  me  of  you,  I 
will  keep  silent.  Not  one  word  good  or  bad  will  I 
speak  of  you.  From  this  day  it  shall  be  to  me  as 
though  you  were  dead! 

[Going.     DRUS.   throws  her  arms  around  him.]  3 

DRUS. 
And  you  said  you  loved  me !    Who  spoke  a  lie  then  ? 


I  did  love  you. 


JOHN. 

DRUS.4 

You  do! 


You  do!    You 


And  you  love  me  still! 
love  me  now ! 

JOHN. 

I — no — I — I  do  not  love  you !    I  will  not  love  you ! 
[Trying  to  take  her  arms  from  him.] 

DRUS. 

You  do !    You  shall !    Come,  you  will  do  as  I  wish, 
friend  John.    I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  strange  sweet 
feeling  has  been  growing  in  my  heart.     [Drawing 
68 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


him  away  from  door.]  1  I  think  I  am  beginning  to 
love  you  at  last,  a  little.  I  must  have  you  near  me — 
because  I  know  you  are  true  as  steel — John,  you 
won't  go  to  Endellion — you'll  get  rid  of  them  to- 
night and  come  back  to  me  to-morrow  ?  Yes,  friend 
John 

JOHN.     [After  a  struggle.] 
I  cannot !    I  dare  not !    Let  me  go ! 

[Tearing  himself  away  from  her. 

DRUS.2 

You  shall  not  go !  You  shall  not !  3  If  you  should 
leave  me — I — don't  know  what  will  become  of  me! 
Perhaps  I  shall  kill  myself!  I  don't  care  what  be- 
comes of  me !  It  will  be  your  work !  I  love  you, 
John,  and  you  can  do  as  you  please  with  me!  Who 
knows?  You  might  make  me  a  good  woman! 
Won't  you  try  ?  I  could  do  anything  for  you !  Ask 
me  anything  in  the  world — I'll  do  it ! 

JOHN.4 

Do  you  mean  that?  Then  leave  this  house  now 
forever.  Come  back  to  your  home  with  your  father 
and  sister  and  me.5  Live  the  rest  of  your  life  so 
that  I  may  forget  what  you  have  been.  I  will  help 
you  and  be  as  your  own  brother.  Will  you  do  that  ? 

DRUS.6 

No — it's  impossible !  I  hate  Endellion — I  must  live 
in  London !  Oh,  you  are  tiresome — you  want  to  go 
— very  well!  Go!  Go!  Go!  There  is  the  door. 


I  hate  you ! 
you — Go ! 

Drusilla ! 7 


I  hate  you !     And  I  had  begun  to  love 
JOHN.     [Tortured.] 


DRUS.S 

Leave  me !    You  do  not  loye  me ! 

69 


1  Drawing  him 
L.  away  from, 
door  L. 


IV.  Call. 
Duke  of  Guise- 
bury. 


1  Imperiously 
L.  c. 

'  Changing  to 
tone  of  en- 
treaty. 


4  Coming  to  her 
fiercely. 


6  Taking  her 
hand  tender* 
ly,  his  voice 
softening. 


*  Suddenly 
after  pause. 
Drawing 
back  with 
sudden 
anger. 


7  Turns  to  her. 


•  L.  c.  retreat- 
ing. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


*  Approaching 
her. 


•  Seductively. 


•  Flings  herself 
on  sofa  L. 


•o. 


Ask  me  anything — 


JOHN.1 

I  do  not  love  you  ?    Do  I  not  ? 
see  if  I  will  not  do  it ! 

DRUS.2 

Stay  in  London.  I  like  you  to  be  near  me — and 
perhaps  some  day  I  will  reward  you  as  you  never 
hoped  for.  Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  some  day  I  will 
give  you  myself ! 

JOHN.     [Fiercely. ] 

Ah,  do  you  think  I  would  take  you  ?  Do  you  think 
it  means  nothing  what  we  were  taught!  That  you 
can  give  yourself  first  to  him  and  then  to  me !  Oh, 
when  I  knew  of  it,  I  thought  I  would  kill  him — and 
many  times  I've  been  near  doing  it!  Very  well — 
give  yourself  to  me !  I'll  take  you !  But  let  me  kill 
him  first — and  then  come  to  me  and  let  us  kill  our- 
selves together.  Will  you  do  that?  Will  you  do 
that  ?  Do  you  love  me  enough  for  that  ? 

DRUS. 

You're  mad!  Come,  be  sensible, — you  won't  go, 
John — I  must  have  you  for  my  friend.  You'll  stay 
with  me? 

JOHN.     [Has  recovered  his  calmness.] 

No — I  leave  here  to-night.  I  have  said  it  and 
I'll  keep  my  word. 

DRUS.3 

You  do  not  love  me!    You  do  not  love  me! 

JOHN.4 

I  do  not  love  you !  Tear  out  this  heart  of  mine  and 
see !  What  do  you  want  of  the  man  that  loves  you  ? 
His  life?  You  can  have  mine.  I'd  suffer  anything 
— I'd  dare  anvthing — I'd  be  your  bondslave  and  pay 
70 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


your  penalty — I'd  give  myself  for  years  beyond 
number  to  make  you  fit  to  be  loved  at  the  last! 
Take  all  my  strength,  my  hopes,  my  worldly  com- 
fort, every  drop  of  joy  that  my  tongue  shall  ever 
taste — That's  nothing — all  is  nothing!  All  is  less 
than  dust!  Set  any  price  upon  yourself!  I'll  pay 
it!  I'll  give  you  all — all — save  only  my  word,  my 
faith,  my  duty,  my  soul!  I  will  not  pay  them  for 
you !  Not  them !  Not  them !  No !  No !  No ! 

[Rushes  off  wildly.  DRUS.  sits  crying,  looks 
up  from  her  tears,  flings  her  handker- 
chief on  the  ground,  goes  to  door,  calls 
"  JOHN  !  rushes  up  to  back,  meets 
GUISE  who  enters.]  x 


What  is  it  ? 


GUISE.     [Very  calmly.]  2 


DRUS.     [Controls  herself.]  8 
Nothing. 

GUISE.4 

Where  are  you  going  in  such  a  hurry  ? 

DRUS. 
Nowhere.5 

GUISE.6 

Di!  Di!  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.7  I've 
been  looking  for  you  all  over  the  grounds.  Where 
are  your  father  and  sister  ? 

DRUS.8 

Gone. 

GUISE. 

Perhaps  it's  better.  I  shall  see  your  father  to-mor- 
row, and  can  speak  to  him  then.9  Di,  will  you  give 
me  a  few  moments?  You'll  be  pleased  to  hear 
what  I  have  to  say. 


»  At  back. 
»  Ope. 

*R.  C. 

•L.  c. 


*  Coming  down 
L.  c.  as  if  go- 
ing off  L. 

•  B.  c.  calling 
after  her. 

1  Drusitta  stops 


•  L.  c.  doggedly. 


9  Drusilla 
moves  to 
wards  door 
L.  again. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


Turning. 


»  Attonithed. 


1  Eagerly. 


•  Cheerfully. 


•  Cheerfully. 


»  Crosses  B.  c. 


DRUS.1 

If  it's  short  and  sweet  I  shall. 

GUISE. 
I  think  it  will  be  sweet.    I'll  make  it  short. 

[Goes  to  her  with  great  tenderness? 

I  wish  you  to  do  me  the  honor  of  becoming  my 
wife. 

DRUS.3 

What?    What?    Say  it  again! 


GUISE. 


I  offer  you  my  hand.    Will  you  be  my  wife? 


You  don't  mean  it  ? 


DRUS.4 


GUISE. 


Indeed  I  do.2  I  don't  profess  to  be  a  pattern,  but 
I  don't  want  to  sink  any  lower  than  I  am !  I  know 
my  love  isn't  worth  much,  but  such  as  it  is  you 
have  it  all.  I'm  fond  of  you,  Di!  You've  always 
been  able  to  twist  me  round  your  finger.  You  can't 
say  that  I  haven't  valued  very  highly  the  privilege  of 
being  ruined  by  you. 

DRUS.5 

It's  been  very  pleasant,  hasn't  it? 

GUISE. 
Delightful  while  it  lasted.  Only 

DRUS. 
Only 

GUISE. 
I'm  ruined ! 

DRUS.8 

Yes,  and  when  a  man's  ruined,  it's  time  for  him  to 
turn  over  a  new  leaf.7 
72 


ACT  II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


GUISE. 

Yes.  My  only  reason  for  turning  over  a  new  leaf 
is  that  I  feel  wretched  and  contemptible  as  I  am.  Di 
— I'm  in  your  hands.  We've  wasted  our  lives 


DRUS.1 

Excuse  me,  Val — I'm  not  twenty-five, 
wasted  part  of  mine  at  present. 


I've  only 


GUISE. 

Don't  waste  the  other  part,  and  don't  let  me  waste 
what  is  left  of  mine.  I  daresay  everybody  will  cut 
us — most  respectable  people  have  cut  me  for  the 
last  five  years — but  we'll  hold  on  to  each  other. 
We'll  be  married  quietly,  and  go  into  some  quiet 
little  continental  place — [Approaching  her  very  ten- 
derly.] 

DRUS. 

No — Val — we  will  not. 

GUISE. 

Well,  we'll  live  where  you  please.  I  can't  provide 
for  you  in  the  style  you  are  used  to.  We  must  cut 
down  everything.  But  you're  welcome  to  all  I  have. 
Di,  you'll  stick  to  me  now?  Mine's  a  broken  life, 
but  I  want  to  pick  up  the  pieces.  You'll  help  me? 
You'll  be  my  wife  ? 

DRUS.2 

My  dear  Val,  don't  ask  me  for  the  one  thing  I  can- 
not give  you.3 

GUISE.  4 

You  don't  mean  it,  Di !  I  know  I've  knocked  about 
the  old  title  and  tarnished  it,  but  I'll  polish  it  up  as 
well  as  I  can  now  you  are  going  to  wear  it. 

DRUS. 

No,  Val.  I'm  really  sensible  of  the  honor  you  have 
done  me,  but  I  must  decline.  I  must  indeed.5 

73 


1  Flippantly 
sitting  L.   of 
R.  table. 


*  Imitation  of 

his  tone  in 
Act  I. 

*  Crosses  L. 

*  Piteotuly. 


1  Lighting 
cigarette. 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT   II 


1  Abject  en- 
treaty. 


Music  ppp  titt 
Curtain. 


»  With  cutting 
coolness. 


•  Offers  hand. 

•  Qrimly, 


GUISE.  1 

Don't  throw  me  over,  Di.  If  you  do,  I  don't  know 
what  will  become  of  me.  I've  been  thoroughly 
shaken  the  last  few  months — I'm  as  weak  as  a  child, 
and  I  want  somebody  to  cling  to.  You're  the  only 
woman  who  has  ever  had  what  I've  got  in  the 
way  of  a  heart — you  have  it  still — Di,  we've  thrown 
away  our  best  chances  of  happiness — let's  save  what 
we  can  from  the  wreck. 

DRUS. 
No,  my  dear  Val — no,  no,  no ! 

GUISE. 
You  refuse  me? 

DRUS.2 

I  refuse  you.  To  live  cheaply  in  a  little  continental 
town,  my  dear  Val,  it  would  be  purgatory !  I  must 
have  my  London,  my  Paris,  my  theatre,  my  dancing, 
my  public  to  worship  me. 

GUISE.     [Greatly  hurt  and  piqued.] 

You  refuse  me? 

DRUS. 

Yes.  We've  had  our  cake  and  eaten  it — Now  the 
feast  is  over,  and  there's  nothing  to  do  but  to  say 
good-bye  and  part  friends.  Good-bye.3 

GUISE.4 

No,  Di.  The  feast  is  not  over.  We  won't  say  good- 
bye. 

DRUS. 

You  won't  say  good-bye? 

GUISE. 
Not  now — we  will  say  good-bye — but  not  now ! 

[DRUS.  shrugs  shoulders  and  exit.6    GUISE. 
bursts  into  a  very  bitter  laugh;  stands 
74 


ACT   II 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


silent  for  some  moments,  then  bursts 
into  a  little  mocking  laugh.] 

This  world  has  given  me  a  few  good  kicks — I've 

had  just  enough  of  it.1    I'll  give  this  world  one  good     *  Fails  into 

i'«i        .  ?  , ,  T,,,  r  ...  armchair  at 

kick  back,  and  then  1 11  get  out  of  it !  fire,  stirs  the 

fire. 

CURTAIN. 
[Six  months  pass  between  Acts  2  and  3.] 


ACT  HI. 

SCENE.  Hall  and  Staircase  at  the  Duke  of  Guise- 
bury 's,  Guisebury  House,  Saint-James's  Square. 
The  wide  handsome  staircase  takes  up  the  centre 
of  stage  and  leads  to  a  gallery  which  runs  along 
the  top,  and  ends  in  doors  on  the  right  and  left. 


ACT  III. 

THE  LAST  FEAST. 

[Discover  Footman,1    Enter  GOLDSPINK.]  2 

GOLDSPINK.3 

Dinner  over,  Charles  ? 

FOOTMAN.4 

I've  left  them  at  dessert.     They're  going  to  have 
coffee  here. 

GOLD.5 

This  is  a  rummy  go,  Charles!  He's  had  a  few 
rummy  goes  in  his  time — in  fact  I  should  say  his 
whole  life  has  been  a  series  of  rummy  goes — but  this 
is  the  rummiest  of  all ! 


Where's  he  going? 


FOOT. 


GOLD. 


He  hasn't  taken  any  passage  for  anywhere,6  he 
hasn't  made  any  enquiries  about  any  vessels,  or 
shown  any  interest  in  foreign  countries.  And  yet 
he's  on  the  hop  somewhere — and  shortly. 

FOOT. 

He's  been  in  tremendous  spirits  all  through  dinner. 
Such  raillery,  Mr.  Goldspink !  Such  delicate  persi- 
flage! It's  been  quite  a  feast  of  wit! 

77 


7.  CoK. 

Duke  of  Guise- 
bury. 

Goldspink. 
Charles. 
Drusilla  Ives. 
Footmen. 

The  table  R. 
with  coffee 
service  is  re- 
moved up 
stage  by 
Charles. 

The  entertain- 
ment. Danc- 
ing, etc.,  sup- 
posed to  take 
place  off  L. 
from  Gallery. 

Music. 


«c. 


•  Goldspink 
crosses  R.  and 
stands  with 
his  back  to 
fire.    Charles 
moves  round 
to  L.  of  table. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Goes  to  escri- 
toire, while 
speaking 
picks  up  two 
letters  that 
lie  there,  lays 
them  down 
again. 

•  Charles  sits 
in  chair  L.  of 
table,  and 
assumes  a 
confidential 
manner. 


GOLD. 

I  don't  understand  Guise  lately.1  He's  never  had 
any  secrets  from  me !  Never  troubled  to  lock  up  his 
letters,  or  any  meannesses  of  that  sort.  But  this 
last  week  he's  puzzled  me,  Charles! 

Foox.2 

There's  something  curious  about  this  little  tete-a-tete 
dinner  with  her,  and  the  big  reception  afterwards. 

GOLD. 

Just  so !  There's  more  in  it,  Charles,  than  meets  the 
eye!  I  don't  know  what  the  denouement  will  be — 
but  you  mark  my  words,  Charles,  there  will  be  a  de- 
nouement of  some  kind  or  the  other. 

FOOT. 

He's  give  Martin  orders  to  have  out  all  the  68 
Chateau  Lafitte  and  the  74  P — J —  for  the  reception 
to-night.  Fancy  turning  all  them  blessed  old  dow- 
agers on  to  68  Lafitte.  It's  disgusting ! 3 

GOLD. 

Guise  always  was  a  damned  fool  with  his  wine  and 
his  money!  But  I  ain't  the  one  to  shy  stones  at 
him  for  that!  He's  chucked  enough  about  for  me 
to  be  the  owner  of  six  houses  in  Gladstone  Terrace, 
Freetrade  Road,  Peckham. 

Enter  GUISE.]  4 
GUISE." 

I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  Goldspink ! 6  You  might  per- 
haps have  invested  my  money  in  something  less  ex- 
tremely radical.7 

GOLD.T 

Your  Grace — if  you'll  pardon  my  saying  so— my 
political  convictions  are  exactly  the  same  as  your 
78 


1  Ooldspink, 
with  affecta- 
tion, throws 
himself  into 
armchair,  be- 

{ore  fire, 
ack  of  chair 
turned  up 
stage. 


*  L.  c.  from  un- 
der staircase. 

s  Charlesjumps 
from  chair 
and  crosses  L. 
much  con- 
fused.   Gold- 
tpink  rises 
very  slowly 
coming  down 
R. 

•c. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


Grace's.  And  I'll  try  to  get  the  name  of  the  terrace 
altered. 

GUISE.  * 

I  wouldn't,  Goldspink.  I've  no  doubt  it's  admirably 
descriptive.  And  I  don't  propose  to  take  the  least 
interest  in  English  politics  for  the  future.2  Lady 
Bawtry  has  not  come  yet? 


FOOT.* 

No,  your  Grace.    Her  Ladyship  said  she  should  be 
here  at  five  minutes  to  twelve.     [Exit.]* 

GUISE. 
Did  you  get  my  sleeping  draught  made  up? 

GOLD. 
Yes,  your  Grace.    It's  in  your  bed-room.     [Exit.]  5 

6  [Enter  DRUSILLA.]  7 
DRUS.S 


Well? 
Well? 


GUISE.9 


DRUS.10 

This  is  really  the  end  of  it  then  ? 

GUISE.11 

The  very  end. 

DRUS.12 

I  should  like  to  cry. 

GUISE.13 

Why? 

DRUS.14 

I  don't  want  to  give  you  up.  That's  the  worst  of 
life.  Its  taste  is  never  half  as  sweet  as  its  perfume ! 
It  is  only  the  flowers  that  we  don't  gather  that  are 
worth  gathering  at  all.15 

79 


*  Turning  to 
Charles  L. 


*  L.  c.  under 
gallery. 


6  R.  c.  under 
gallery. 

6  Music  soft. 

1  L.  c.  from  un 
der  staircase 

8  Coming  c. 


*  R.  back  to  fire. 


10  Coming  to 
foot  of  steps 
c. 


Coming  to  L. 
of  table. 


"R. 


"L.  of  table. 


«  Sitting  L.  of 
table. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


1  Laughing. 


*  Ouise  turns 
and  leans  on 
•mantel-pin.ee. 

*  Coquettish 
pose.     Sugar 
tongs  in 
hand. 

*  Turning  to 
her  gaily. 

*  Pouring 
coffee. 

*  Handing  cup 
across  table. 
N.  B.—All 
through  this 
scene  the 
Duke  is  in  fe- 
verish, high 
spirits.  Dru- 
sitta  is  de- 
pressed. 

1  Taking  cup. 


•  Sitting  B.  of 
table. 


*  Pouring  cup 
for  herself. 


GUISE.1 

What!  You're  never  going  to  take  life  seriously, 
Di  ?  Just  as  I've  discovered  what  a  superb  jest  it  is ! 

DRUS. 

No,  it  isn't.  It's  something  between  jest  and  earnest 
— something  between  a  laugh  and  a  cry.2  Only  to- 
night, now  we  are  parting,  it  seems  a  little  nearer  a 
cry!  I  shall  miss  you,  Val!  Shall  you  miss  me?3 

GUISE.4 

Not  in  the  least.    Two  lumps. 

DRUS.5 

Oh,  but  you  must.  It  will  be  unkind.  It  will  be  un- 
gallant  to  forget  me ! 6 

GUISE.7 

When  you  and  I  have  parted  after  the  reception  to- 
night, I  shan't  give  you  twenty  thoughts  for  the 
rest  of  my  life. 

DRUS. 

But  that's  monstrous !  That's  a  challenge  to  me  to 
win  you  again! 

GUISE.8 

You  can't  wring  a  wren's  neck  twice ! 

DRUS.9 

Do  you  know,  Val,  you've  been  charming  the  last 
few  days  and  to-night  at  dinner  I  felt  if  I  had  a 
heart  I  could  lose  it  to  you. 

GUISE. 
If  you  had  a  heart  I  should  have  won  it  years  ago. 

DRUS. 
And  broken  it ! 

GUISE. 

Most  likely !    You  liked  our  dinner  to-night  ? 
80 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


Laughs. 


DRUS. 

It  was  exquisite.  And  you  were  the  most  delightful 
companion.1  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  You 
seem  so  light-hearted  to-night — so  unlike  yourself. 

GUISE.     [Gaily.] 

I've  paid  all  my  debts — except  one,  and  that  will 
give  me  no  trouble.  That's  quite  unlike  myself. 

DRUS. 
And  you've  sold  Danecourt? 

GUISE. 

Yes,  my  cousin  and  I  put  it  in  the  pot.  Samuelson 
the  stockbroker  made  us  a  splendid  bid — I  found  it 
would  just  clear  me  and  leave  me  a  few  thousands 
to  the  good,  and  I  thought  I  couldn't  do  better  than 
give  you  the  most  recherche  dinner  possible  and  a 
big  reception  afterwards.2 


In  my  honor? 


DRUS. 

GUISE.3 


In  your  honor  and  for  your  honor.  You  know, 
my  dear  Di,  there  have  been  rumors  about  you  and 
me,  rumors  which  might  affect  your  future — so 
just  to  show  there  is  absolutely  no  foundation — I 
have  asked  my  aunt,  Lady  Bawtry,  to  do  the  honors 
for  me,  and  I've  invited  all  my  set. 
DRUS. 

Oh,  but  that's  perfectly  delightful  of  you! 

GUISE. 

Half  of  them  were  scandalized  and  declined.  The 
other  half  were  scandalized  and  accepted.  You 
shall  dance  yourself  out  of  my  life,  and  I'll  take 
leave  of  you  all.  To-night  when  I  bid  my  last  guest 
farewell,  I  shan't  have  a  single  care  or  anxiety  in 
the  world.4  Tell  me,  Di,  when  I've  left  England, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself? 

' 


1  Drinks  hit 
coffee. 


8  Stands  with 
back  to  fire. 
Rising. 


*  Lighting  Cig- 
arette. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


DRUS. 

I  have  some  dancing  engagements  at  private  houses. 
They  pay  me  very  well.  I  shall  go  on  with  that 
while  I'm  the  fashion.  That  will  be  this  season — 
and  perhaps  next 

GUISE. 
Apres  ? 

DRUS. 
Then  I  shall  go  to  America — or  into  a  convent. 


1  Amazed. 


*  Moodily. 


Indifferent 
tone. 


A  convent? 


GUISE. 
DRUS. 


Yes.  The  Catholic  is  such  an  artistic  religion.  No 
harmoniums.  I  think  I  should  like  to  try  it  for  three 
months. 

GUISE. 
And  then  ? 

DRUS. 

And  then?  And  then?  Who  knows?  I  don't! 
Lately  I  seem  to  be  pursuing  something  that  always 
escapes  me.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  love  for  that 
boy  John  Christison.  Guise,  do  you  know  where  I 
went  the  other  week  when  the  Richmond  Place  was 
broken  up  ? 

GUISE. 
Where? 

DRUS. 
To  Endellion. 

GUISE.  1 

Endellion?    You  saw  your  father? 

DRUS.2 

No.    He  is  still  in  London. 

GUISE.3 

In  London?    What's  he  doing  up  here? 
82 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


DRUS. 

Looking  for  me.  Poor  father ! J  I  wisn  I  could 
let  him  know  I  am  quite  safe — without  telling  him 
in  what  way.2 

GUISE. 

What  did  you  do  in  Endellion  ?  3 
DRUS. 

I  only  stayed  there  a  few  hours — and  I  saw  no  one 
but  John  Christison.  He  has  begun  the  breakwater, 
and  he  looked  grubby  and  good  and  happy  in  his 
dismal  way.  I  was  rather  disgusted  with  him. 


Why? 


GUISE. 
DRUS. 


Because  he  is  forgetting  me.  I  have  lost  my  power 
over  him.  As  I  have  lost  my  power  over  you.  I 
want  you  to  worship  me  as  you  did,  and  I  can't  make 
you.  I  feel  that  everything  is  slipping  away  from 
me;  I  feel  that  I'm  going  to  be  cheated  out  of  my 
youth  and  beauty  and  the  homage  that  men  owe  me ! 
Just  when  I  long  for  more  life,  more  pleasure,  more 
empire!  Oh!  I  hope  I  shall  never  live  to  grow 
old!4 

GUISE.5 

It  would  be  a  pity! 

DRUS.6 

What  makes  you  such  a  stone  towards  me?  Am  I 
losing  my  power  over  everybody,  as  I  have  lost  it 
over  you ! 

GUISE.7 

Try !  There  will  be  a  crowd  here  to-night.  Practice 
on  them.  You'll  give  us  a  dance? 

DRUS. 

Yes.    Isn't  my  dress  maddening?  If  you  knew  what 

trouble  I've  taken  over  it  for  you 

83 


*  Enter  Charles 

L.  c.    Dukf. 
nods  head  as 
if  telling  him 
to  remove 
coffee  tray. 
Ckarles 
clears  table 
R.  c.  and 
exits  L.  c. 

*  Resuming 

chair  R. 


II.  Call. 
Goldspink. 
Charles. 
Footmen. 
Lady  Bawtry. 


•  Rises  and 
goes  L. 

•  With  shrug 
of  shoulders. 

•  Coming  back 
R.  c. 


1  Rising. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


1  Back  to  fire. 


*  Rising  hur- 
riedly. 

*  Running  up- 
stairs to- 
wards L. 

*  Stopping  top 
of  stairs  and 
turning. 


On  gallery  to 


1  Turning  to 
mantel,  sees 
clock. 

8  Goes  slowly 
across  to  L. 
until  stopped 
by  chair. 


9  Goes  back  to 


»  Sitting  in 

chair  near 
fire  R. 


»  Feels  his 
pulse. 


GUISE.1 

For  me?  You  are  kind.  I  wished  to  make  your 
dance  a  great  success.  My  aunt,  Lady  Bawtry,  will 
be  here  soon. 

DRUS.2 

And  I've  got  to  put  the  finishing  touch  to  my  dress.3 
But  I  must  have  another  word  with  you  before  we 
part  forever.4 

GUISE. 
Yes,  one  word  more — but  only  one — Adieu ! 

DRUS. 
Oh,  don't  say  it  yet.     [Exit.]  5 

GUISE.6 

One  word  more,  old  love — Adieu — One  word  more, 
old  world — Adieu.7  Ten  minutes  to  twelve.8  About 
another  two  hours'  consciousness,  and  perhaps  an- 
other hour  more — without  consciousness !  Strange ! 
I  shan't  drop  off  to  sleep  to-night — I  shall  drop  off 
to  death.  But  really  one  drops  off  to  death  every 
night  for  eight  hours.9  Except  when  one  has  in- 
somnia. Life's  nothing  more  than  insomnia  after 
all — and  I've  had  it  badly.10  It  would  be  rather  in- 
teresting to  leave  behind  me  an  account  of  my  feel- 
ings for  this  last  hour  or  so.  'Pon  my  word,  I  don't 
know  that  I  have  been  such  a  fool  after  all.  I've 
had  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  life — and  I've  got  two 
or  three  more  hours.  Let  me  see  how  I  really  feel. 
I  did  sleep  last  night.  I  can  understand  now  why  a 
condemned  man  always  sleeps  so  pleasantly  the  last 
night.  Yes — life  is  insomnia — nothing  more.11  It's 
steady  and  regular — about  seventy,  I  should  think. 
I  never  remember  such  a  feeling  of  absolute  serenity 
and  superiority !  To  think  that  all  these  poor  devils 
who  are  coming  to  my  reception  to-night  will  be 
full  of  cares  and  anxiety,  worrying  themselves  about 
all  sorts  of  silly  social  conventions,  dressing  them- 
84 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


selves  up  in  the  most  expensive  ridiculous  way,  lov- 
ing, hating,  fighting,  eating,  drinking  and  scram- 
bling for  happiness,  or  what  they  think  happiness — 
with  not  a  bit  of  chance  of  reaching  it — and  I  shall 
be  the  only  really  happy  one  among  them.  Yes, 
decidedly  I'm  master  of  the  situation.1  Is  it 
seventy-five?  Perhaps — but  then  it's  the  thought 
of  to-night's  frolic.2  How  they  will  chatter  to- 
morrow— what  faces  they  will  pull !  How  they  will 
moralize  at  my  expense ! 3  I  wonder  if  there  is  one 
single  soul  in  this  world  that  will  be  sorry  that  I 
have  let  it?  Yes,  one — Midge.4  I  wish  I  could 
take  her  across  the  ferry  with  me !  I'll  scribble  her 
a  line  of  adieu.  The  letters  to  Crake  and  Dyson, 
I'd  forgotten  them !  5  Have  I  made  Crake  thor- 
oughly understand?  About  Di's  settlement?  It 
will  be  at  least  sufficient  to  ensure  her  from  want  in 
the  event  of  her  dancing  engagements  failing.6  Yes 
— that  will  do^-now  for  a  line  to  Midge.7  "  My 
dear  Midge,  by  the  time  you  get  this  I  shall  be  well 
on  my  way  to  the  new  world.  I  sail  early  to- 
morrow. The  weather  is  very  fair  and  the  outlook 
favorable- 


»  8 


Goldspink,  you  paid  all  those  little  bills  ? 

[GOLDSPINK  enters.]  9 
Yes,  your  Grace. 

GUISE.  10 

I've  left  fifty  pounds  in  your  name  at  the  Bank  in 
case  any  claims  arise  after  I've  left  England. 

GOLD.11 

I'm  sorry  your  Grace  won't  allow  me  to  accompany 
you  on  your  travels. 

GUISE.12 

Well,  the  fact  is,  Goldspink,  I  don't  think  I  shall 
require  a  valet. 

GOLD. 

Your  Grace  will  be  rather  at  a  loss  without  one. 

85 


1  Feels  pulse 
again. 

1  Rising. 


8  Slowly  cross- 
ing L. 

•  Stopping. 


8  Goes  to  escri- 
toire R.  above 
fireplace, 
takes  up  two 
letters  tying 
on  desk 

9  Opening  let- 
ter and  reads 
it  to  himself. 

1  Stts  and 
writes,  read- 
ing as  he 
•writes. 


8  Rings  bell 
and  folds 
note,  seals  it, 
etc. 

'  R.  c.  down  c. 
Duke,  rises, 
letters  in 
hand. 

10Comes  to  back 
of  table  R.  c. 


11  c. 


"R.C. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Lays  the  three 
letters  on 
table  R.  c. 

*  About  to  take 
them. 

s  R.  c.  raising 
hand. 


GUISE. 

Perhaps,  Goldspink,  perhaps.  But  in  these  new 
countries  one  must  expect  to  rough  it  a  little  at 
first. 

GOLD. 

Your  Grace  is  taking  a  very  small  wardrobe. 
GUISE. 

Quite  sufficient,  Goldspink,  quite  sufficient.  I  wish 
these  three  letters  to  be  posted  early  to-morrow 
morning.1 

GOLD. 

I'll  post  them  myself,  your  Grace.2 

GUISE.3 

Early  to-morrow  morning — not  to-night.  You 
understand.  You'll  see  the  last  of  poor  Bully-boy? 

GOLD. 
Yes,  your  Grace.    I've  got  the  poison. 

GUISE. 

I  tried  to  do  it  myself,  but  he  licked  my  hand,  and 
I  hadn't  the  heart.  You're  sure  he  won't  suffer? 

GOLD. 

Not  a  bit,  your  Grace.  I  had  to  put  my  old  terrier 
out  of  the  way  last  year,  and  he  went  off  as  quiet 
as  a  baby  going  to  sleep.  I  hope  you  and  me,  your 
Grace,  will  go  as  comfortably,  when  our  time  comes. 

GUISE. 
I  hope  so,  Goldspink. 

[Exit  GoLDSPiNK.4     Enter  CHARLES,"   an- 
nouncing LADY  BAWTRY.    Enter  LADY 

BAWTRY.6 

GUISE. 

7  My  dear  aunt !     I  knew  you  would  come  and 
86 


*B.O. 

•L. 

«L. 

Music  pp  p. 

7  Guise  comet 
c.,  meeting 
Lady  B. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


do  the  honors  for  me,  and  shed  a  halo  of  respecta- 
bility over  my  last  reception ! 

[Exit  CHARLES.]  1 

LADY  B.2 

You  wretched  sinner !  I've  shed  so  many  haloes  of 
respectability  over  you  and  your  antics  that  I've 
scarcely  a  halo  left  to  cover  my  own  little  peccadil- 
loes. 

GUISE. 

Your  peccadilloes  always  become  you  so  well, 
Auntie,  that  they  form  a  halo  in  themselves. 

LADY  B. 

If  my  faults  are  charming,  it  is  because  I  have  the 
good  taste  to  keep  them  decently  dressed.  Nobody 
ever  saw  more  than  the  ankle  of  any  of  my  indis- 
cretions ! 3 

GUISE. 

It  was  cruel  of  your  faults  to  preserve  their  modesty. 

LADY  B.4 

I  wish  your  faults  had  any  modesty  to  preserve. 
Your  vices  are  so  terrible  decolletees  Really,  Guise, 
you  are  too  outrageous  for  words.  And  what  have 
you  gained  by  shocking  society? 

GUISE.5 

Nothing.  But  see  what  society  has  gained  by  being 
shocked. 

LADY  B. 

Well,  what?  You've  scandalized  everybody,  of- 
fended everybody,  made  things  uncomfortable  for 
all  your  connections.  It  isn't  that  you  are  worse 
than  anybody  else — I  know  dozens  of  men  far  worse 
than  you.  Look  at  Bawtry  for  instance — he's  going 
on  dreadfully.  But  you've  not  played  the  game 
fairly.  Society's  the  best  tempered  creature  that 
ever  lived — society  allows  you  to  do  as  you  please, 

87 


1  L.  c.,  striking 
him  with 
fan. 

III.   Call. 
Reginald 
Slingsby. 
Charles. 
Footmen. 
Augustus 
Cheevers. 
Lady  Poper- 
coach. 

Isabel  Poper- 
coach. 

Mr.  Vanstone. 
Lady  Matt- 
land. 

Lady  Baldwin. 
Miss  Baldwin. 
Lady  Brisling- 
ton. 

Miss  Anstruth- 
er's. 

Mr.    Augustus 
Anstruther's. 
Signor  Poni- 
atowski,  Ma- 
harajah of 
Jumpore. 

3  Putting  fan 
before  her 
face. 

*  Crossing  R. 


6L.C. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


1  Sitting  L.  of 
R.  c.  table, 
fanning  her- 
self. 

*c. 


*  Rises,  coming 
to  Ouise,  tap- 
ping him  on 
shoulder 
with  fan  c. 


believe  as  you  please,  be  as  wicked  as  you  please — 
only  society  says,  "  Don't  do  it  openly — I  want  to 
wink  at  your  little  follies,  because  I  want  you  to 
wink  at  mine.1 

GUISE.2 

In  short,  "  Be  as  immoral  as  you  like,  but  don't  make 
a  fuss  about  it." 

LADY  B. 

Exactly,  and  keep  it  out  of  the  newspapers.  We  all 
must  have  our  little  follies  and  indiscretions.  Hu- 
man nature  is  just  what  it  always  was  and  always 
will  be.  The  world  is  just  what  it  always  was  and 
always  will  be.3  Society  is  just  what  it  always  was 
and  always  will  be.  What  is  the  use  of  making 
yourself  a  nuisance  by  trying  to  reform  it  on  the  one 
hand,  or  shocking  it  and  defying  it  on  the  other? 
No,  no,  you  good-for-nothing  fellow.  Turn  over  a 
new  leaf  this  very  night,  and  if  you're  ever  so  much 
better  than  your  neighbors,  or  ever  so  much  worse, 
don't  make  them  uncomfortable  by  letting  them 
know  it. 

GUISE.4 

I'm  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf — this  very  night. 

LADY  B.5 
That  lady  is  not  coming  to-night  ?  6 

GUISE.7 

A  lady  is  coming  who  has  promised  to  dance. 

LADY  B. 
It's  too  bad  of  you,  Guise — I  will  not  meet  her ! 8 

GUISE.® 
You  applauded  her  dancing  last  year. 

LADY  B.10 

That  was  for  charity.  And  everybody  runs  after 
her — it's  disgraceful.  I'm  not  squeamish,  Guise, 
but  really,  society  is  getting  too  mixed. 


•  Facing  her 
seriously. 


•c. 

•  Severely. 


•  Crossing  L. 
•B.  c. 

10  Turning  L.  c. 


88 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


GUISE.1 

It  is  mixed — but  so  it  will  be  by  and  by — in  both 
the  other  places — whatever  principle  of  selection  is 
adopted. 

LADY  B.2 

I  heard  you  had  broken  off  with  her. 

GUISE. 
I've  not  seen  her  for  some  time  till  to-night. 

LADY  B.3 
Why  did  you  bring  her  here  to-night  ? 

GUISE.4 

Because  having  done  some  injury  to  her  reputation,. 
I  thought,  my  dear  auntie,  that  for  the  sake  of  your 
scapegrace  nephew 

LADY  B. 
I  won't,  Guise,  positively,  I  wont 5 

GUISE.6 

Yes,  you  will,  Auntie.  You'll  be  generous  enough 
to  take  her  under  your  wing,  if  at  any  time  she 
should  stand  in  need  of  a  friend  when  I've  left  Eng- 
land. 

LADY  B. 
I  won't !    I'll  never  forgive  you,  never ! 

GUISE. 
You'll  forgive  me  to-morrow  at  this  time,  Auntie. 

LADY  B. 
I  won't!    You're  too  shocking  for  anything!  7 

GUISE.8 

Come,  Auntie — we  shan't  see  each  other  for  a  long 
while.  Don't  let  us  part  bad  friends !  9 

89 


1  R.  C. 


*L.  C. 


*  Annoyed ,' 
crossing  R. 


6  Coming  to- 
wards L. 


•  Opposing  her 
way. 


T  Going  R. 

•c. 

*  Guise  offers 
hand,  pause, 
before  Lady 
Bawtry  gives 
hers. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


LADY  B.     [Kissing  him.] 

There !  You  wretch !  I  don't  know  where  you're 
going,  but  wherever  it  is,  you'll  shock  them. 

[Enter  CHARLES,1  announcing  "  MR.  REGI- 
NALD SLINGSBY."  Enter  REGY.]  2 

REGY.S 

How  d'ye  do,  Guise?  How  d'ye  do,  Lady  Baw- 
try?4 

LADY  B.5 

Well,  Mr.  Slingsby,  when  shall  we  have  the  pleasure 
of  congratulating  you  ? 

[CHARLES  enters,6  announcing  SIR  LIONEL 
and  LADY  BALDWIN  and  Miss  BALD- 
WIN, who  enter.]  7 

REGY.8 

If  I  were  to  ask  your  advice  on  a  little  delicate  mat- 
ter, Lady  Bawtry,  would  you  give  it  fearlessly  and 
frankly  ? 

[Erit  CHARLES.]  9 

LADY  B.10 

Certainly,  Mr.  Slingsby.  I'm  not  a  very  charitable 
woman,  but  I  never  refuse  advice. 

REGY.11 

You've  been  to  my  little  place — you  know  my  man 
Crapper?  Well,  my  prospective  mother-in-law, 
Lady  Poperoach,  has  made  herself  so  very  objection- 
able to  poor  Crapper  that  things  have  come  to  a 
crisis  and  it's  a  question  of  my  forbidding  her  the 
house  or  losing  Crapper  altogether. 

LADY  B.12 
What  a  pity !    You'll  have  to  let  him  go,  then  ? 

REGY.13 

Let  him  go  ? !  Life  would  not  be  worth  living  with- 
out Crapper! 

90 


8  Shaking 
hands  with 
Guise. 

•  Crossing  to 
her. 

6R.  C. 


L.  As  they  en- 
ter Guise 
meets  them  c. 
They  form, 
group  at  foot 
of  stairs  c. 
Regy  draws 
Lady  B.  to  B. 
c.  down 
stage. 

c. 


11  R.  c. 


"a. 


18  R.  C. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


W.  Call. 
Sybil  Crake. 


LADY  B.1 
Can't  you  persuade  him  to  stay? 

REGY.2  »  B.  c. 

No,  Crapper's  as  firm  as  a  rock.  He  said  to  me  an 
hour  ago  as  he  was  dressing  me,  "  Heaven  forbid, 
sir,"  he  said,  "  that  I  should  prognosticate  you 
against  matrimony,  but  in  the  name  of  humanity," 
he  said,  "  if  it's  like  this  before  marriage,  what's  it 
going  to  be  like  after  ?  "  And  I  said,  "  By  Jove, 
you're  right,  Crapper,"  and  I  sat  down  there  and 
then  and  I  wrote  my  ultimatum  to  Lady  Poperoach 
and  Crapper's  taken  it  and  she's  reading  it  this 
moment.  Now,  Lady  Bawtry,  don't  you  think  I've 
done  right? 

LADY  B. 
But — it  will  lead  to  breaking  off  the  engagement ! 

REGY. 

Well,  of  course,  it  will  be  very  unfortunate  for  me — 
but  if  things  come  to  the  worst  I  may  get  another 
mother-in-law  like  Lady  Poperoach,  but  I  shall 
never  get  another  valet  like  Crapper. 

{Enter  CHARLES  3  announcing  MR.  AUGUS- 
TUS CHEEVERS;  LORD  and  LADY  BRIS- 

LINGTON.4 

[They  enter  and  CHARLES  exit.'}  5 

REGY.6 

Guise,  old  fellow,  this  is  a  devilish  momentous  night 
for  me. 

GUISE.7 

Is  it? 

REGY. 

Yes,  my  fate  is  trembling  in  the  balance.  The  next 
three  or  four  hours  will  decide  what  becomes  of 
me! 

91 


Lady  Bawtry 
crosses  to 
meet  Lady 
Brislington 
L.  C.  Regy 
draws  Duke 
to  B  c. 


7  B.C. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


SC.  I 


GUISE. 
And  does  it  matter  what  becomes  of  you — Regy  ? 

[CHARLES  enters  l  announcing  LADY  POPE- 
ROACH,  Miss  ISABEL  POPEROACH. 
REGY  immediately  rushes  up  stairs  and 
off.2  Enter  LADY  POPEROACH  and 
Miss  POPEROACH.  Exit  CHARLES.]  3 

LADY  BRis.4 

I  was  rather  doubtful  about  coming  because — well, 
because  of  the  scandal — but  when  I  found  everybody 
else  was  coming 


*  L.  on  gallery, 


*  Guise  goes  c. 
meeting 
Lady  P.  and 
Isabel.  Lady 
Brislington 
comes  down 
to  Lady  Bow- 
try. 

'  Coming  down 
L.  of  Lady 
Bawtry. 


CHEEVERS.5 

And  bringing  their  daughters — 


LADY  BRIS. 

I  thought  there  could  be  no  harm  in  it.  Besides  I 
wasn't  sure  that  the — the — a — a — would  be  present. 

CHEEV. 
Oh,  yes,  the — a — a — will  be  present. 

LADY  BRIS. 
Is  she  going  to  dance  ? 

CHEEV. 

Yes.    Didn't  you  see  the  platform? 
LADY  BRIS. 

I'm  glad  she's  going  to  dance.  Because  it  really 
puts  her  on  the  level  of  an  entertainer — and,  of 
course,  entertainers  and  artists,  and  those  people — 
they  have  morals  of  their  own,  haven't  they? 

CHEEV. 

Oh,  yes!    Plenty!    Of  their  own! 
LADY  BAWTRY. 

I  think  great  allowance  ought  to  be  made  for 

92 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


CHEEV.1 

For  everybody  who  goes  wrong.  So  do  I.  I  believe 
with  Socrates  that  all  wrongdoing  is  quite  involun- 
tary. I've  only  one  rule  in  dealing  with  it — to  ex- 
tend to  all  man  and  womankind  that  plenary  indulg- 
ence which  I  lavish  upon  myself. 


LADY  BRIS. 
Oh,  there's  that  dear  Poniatowski ! 2 

[Enter  PONIATOWSKI  left  and  off  up  stairs.] 

CHEEV. 
The  fiddler  who  eloped  with  Mrs.  Brocklehurst? 

LADY  BRIS. 

They  say  he  has  played  divinely  ever  since.     We 
mustn't  miss  his  solo.3 

[Exeunt  crowd  following  PONIATOWSKI.] 

CHEEV.4 

Curious  hangings,  Guise !    Where  did  you  pick  them 


up, 


GUISE.5 


They  are  the  funeral  draperies  of  His  Majesty,  the 
late  Emperor  of  China. 

CHEEV. 
A  funeral  must  be  rather  a  festive  affair  in  China. 

GUISE. 

Why  not?  Why  shouldn't  it  be  here?  If  a  man 
must  die  why  should  he  make  all  his  friends  miser- 
able? The  Romans  used  to  feast  at  their  funerals. 
Some  more  music.  Tell  Poniatowski  to  play  again 
— keep  it  up.  [SYBIL  enters6  walking  with  aid  of 
cane.]  I  hope  when  I  die  that  not  one  eye  will  be 
the  wetter,  or  one  heart  the  heavier  because  a  good- 
for-nothing  fellow  has  gone 

93 


1  Enter  Pomo- 
t owski  a  Pol- 
ish violinist 
L.  c.   ascend- 
ing stairs 
and  going  off 
L.,  violin 
under  arm, 
followed  by 
crowd. 


*  Exeunt  om- 
nes  follow- 
ing Ponia- 
towski up- 
stairs and  off 
L.  as  Lady  P. 
and  Isabel 
disappear 
Kegy  returns 
running 
from  L.  down- 
stairs and  off 
i_,  Cheevers 
and  Duke 
meets  at  foot 
of  stairs. 

*  R.  C. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


1  And  off  L. 
Guise  goes  K. 
stands  lean- 
ing against 
chair  L.  of 
table  R.  C. 


»  Violin  solo 
faintly  heard 
in  the  dis- 
tance L. 


Where? 


SYB.1 

GUISE. 


I  don't  know.  [Exit  CHEEVERS  up  stairs.]2  The 
Chinaman  thinks  he's  going  into  nothingness  and 
this  is  his  mourning.  We  think  we  are  going  to 
Paradise  and  our  friends  wear  black  kid  gloves, 
crape  hat-bands  and  hire  a  dozen  men  in  black.  We 
can't  be  going  to  a  more  comic  world  than  this.3 

SYB. 
No,  nor  to  a  sadder. 

GUISE. 

I  didn't  expect  you,  Midge,  I  thought  you  wouldn't 
face  the  crowd! 

SYB. 

Oh,  your  rooms  are  so  large.  And  I  so  much 
wanted  to  see  Nero  fiddling  while  Rome  was  blaz- 
ing. 

GUISE. 

I  haven't  provided  that  attraction.  But  there's  the 
Hungarian  Band — and  Poniatowski — if  he'll  do? 

SYB. 

Yes,  he'll  do  for  Nero — he  can  fiddle  while  your 
soul's — not  freezing.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  My 
foot's  really  better — what's  the  matter  with  you  ? 


Nothing. 


GUISE. 
SYB. 


What  are  you  going  to  do  after  to-night  ? 

GUISE. 

I  leave  the  country  early  to-morrow  morning. 

SYB. 

Where  are  you  going? 
94 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


»B.a 


GUISE. 
On  a  voyage  of  discovery. 

SYB 
Where? 

GUISE. 
That's  a  secret. 

SYB.1 

Is  it  anywhere — anywhere  that  a  friend  could  ever 
come  to  you  ? 

GUISE.2 

What  friend? 

SYB. 
Myself ! 

GUISE. 
You!    I  think  not! 

SYB. 
You're  not  going  after  those  Arctic  voyagers? 

GUISE. 
Yes,  I'm  going  after  those  Arctic  voyagers ! 

SYB.3 

Then  you  are  going  to  try  and  do  something  for 
them  at  last.  Oh,  I'm  glad  you're  setting  yourself 
to  something !  But  won't  it  be  very  dangerous  ? 

GUISE. 

Not  very,  I  think.4  Midge,  what's  the  matter? 
Tears. 

SYB. 

"What  shall  I  do  when  you're  gone? 

GUISE. 
You  have  your  poor  people. 

SYB. 

Oh,  but  they're  only  my  chicks. 

95 


V.  Call. 
Davis  Ives. 
Drusilla  Ives. 
Charles. 
James. 


With  strong 
emotion. 


*  Sybil  begins 
to  cry. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  Solo  ends, 
loud  ap- 
plause, 
crowd  comes 
from  L.  on 
gallery  ap- 
plauding. 
They  are  de- 
scending the 
stairs  when 
Augustus 
runs  out 
from  L.  on 
gallery  call- 
ing.   "  Now, 
Larly  Bris- 
linyton,  etc.'''' 
They  all  re- 
turn talking 
together. 

*  Music. 

*  Sybil  starts  to 

to  go  L. 

*  Guise  goes  up 
stairs. 

*  On  gallery. 

*  On  gallery 
left. 

1  Crossing  R. 

*  Sees  letter  on 
table  a. 


Your  chicks  ? 


GUISE. 
SYB. 


I  had  a  black  hen  at  Danecourt  with  a  lot  of  chicks 
and  one  duckling  in  her  brood  —  it  was  the  duckling 
that  was  always  getting  into  harm  and  giving  her 
trouble,  but  it  was  the  duckling  that  she  loved  — 
poor  silly  creature  !  My  poor  people  are  my  chicks 
—  it's  a  pleasure  to  look  after  them  !  But  I  don't 
want  that  —  I  want  the  trouble  and  hopelessness  of 
looking  after  you  ! 

GUISE.     [Aside.] 
I  wish  she  hadn't  come  ! 

SYB. 

Besides,  if  you  go  away,  I  shall  never  pull  you  from 
under  the  horses'  hoofs.  Must  you  go  ? 

GUISE. 

I  must  !  I've  made  every  arrangement  for  going  — 
and  none  for  staying.2 

CHEEV. 

Now,  Lady  Brislington,  Miss  Valrose  is  going  to 
dance,2  if  you  want  to  get  a  good  place. 

SYB.     [to  GUISE.] 
Must  you  go  ? 

GUISE. 

I  must  !  3    Where  are  you  going,  Midge  ? 

SYB. 

Home.  I  don't  care  much  to  look  at  dancing.4 
Where  are  you  going? 

GUISE.5 

To  the  dance  ! 


SYB.7 

Is  he  really  going  after  those  arctic  voyagers 
96 


?  8    A 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


letter  for  me !     In  his  handwriting !  x     Strange ;  I 
don't  understand  it !    I'll  wait  and  see  Nero  riddling. 

[Exit  SYB.  up  stairs.2  Enter  DAVID  IvES,3 
forcing  his  way,  CHARLES  opposing  him. 

DAVID. 
This  is  the  Duke  of  Guisebury's  ?  4 

CHARLES.5 

Yes.    What  is  your  business? 

DAVID.6 

Tell  thy  master  that  David  Ives  would  speak  to 
him. 

CHARLES.7 

You  cannot  speak  to  him  now. 

DAVID.8 

I  can  and  I  will.    Take  him  my  message  or — what's 
that  noise  ?    What's  that  shouting  ?  9 

CHARLES.10 

Miss  Valrose  is  dancing.11 

DAVID.12 

Miss  Valrose  dancing !     Where  ?  13 

[The  crowd  of  guests  enter ^  applauding 
DRUSILLA  who  is  in  dancing  costume  led 
by  GUISE.  They  come  down-stairs  fol- 
lowed by  guests. 

GUISE.15 

David  Ives. 

DRUS.16 

You! 

DAVID.17 

Thy  name,  woman!     Dost  thou  hear?     Who  art 
thou  ?    I  want  to  know  thy  name  ? 

DRUS.18 

Drusilla  Ives ! 

7  97 


1  Opens  and 
reads  letter. 


*  And  off  at 
gallery  right. 

*  Left  down- 
stairs. 


TL.  C. 


•  Pushing 
Chas.  away 
to  R.  c. 

9  Tremendous 
applause 
and  crie*  of 
"Bravo!" 
off  left  on 
gallery. 


11  The  applause 
and  cries  of 
Bravo  !  in- 
crease. 


15  David  crosses 
to  R.  by  table. 
Stop  Music. 

l«  On  gallery  L. 


15  On  stairs  L.  c 

16  On  stairs  R.  c 

17  R.  c.  below. 

18  c.  on  stairs. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


*  Pointing  L, 


*  Indignant 
clamor 
among  guests 
on  stairs  and 
gallery. 

*  Crossing  L.  c. 
to  crowd. 


•  On  stair  u  of 
DrusiUa. 


DAVID.1 

Drusilla  Ives!  I  thought  it  was  Delilah  or  Jezebel 
or  Valrose !  Drusilla  Ives !  Then  it  seems  that  thou 
art  my  daughter !  Get  a  cloak  or  shawl  to  cover  thy 
infamy  and  come  with  me !  There  lies  thy  way ! 2 

DRUS. 
No !    That  is  your  way !    This  is  mine ! 3 

DAVID.4     [to  guests.] 

I  don't  know  your  ways,  but  I  suppose  you're  made 
of  flesh  and  blood  the  same  as  I  am — and  you  have 
fathers  and  children — that's  my  child — my  firstborn 
— I  want  to  speak  to  my  child  alone !  Perhaps  you'll 
give  me  leave. 

GUISE.5 

Your  father  wishes  to  speak  to  you — your  father ! 

DAVID. 
I'll  deal  with  thee  to-morrow ! 

GuiSE.6     [To  DAVID.]  7 

To-morrow !  If  you  please ! 8  Some  music  there 
— please !  Tell  them  to  give  us  some  music !  Some 
music !  Get  them  away !  I  beg  you !  Will  you  go 
— if  you  please ! 

[Exeunt  GUISE  and  guests  leaving  DAVID 
and  DRUSILLA.] 

DAVID.9 

Now,  thou  shameless  one! 

DRUS.10 

Spare  yourself,  father !  Words  will  not  move  me — 
nor  threats. 

DAVID.11 

What  will  then?    Thou — thou  wanton!    Thou  be- 
trayer of  men !    What  hast  thou  to  say.12 
98 


•c. 
'L.  c. 

8  Guise  turns 
to  crowd, 
ushering 
them  out  on 
gallery  to  L. 
and  follojo- 
ing,  leaving 
David  and 
Dntsilla. 


»  L.  of  Drus.  C. 


10Comf  ng  down 
from  stairs  c. 


"L.  c. 


Threatening 
gesture, 
hand  raised 
to  strike. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


*  Drusilla 
moves  to- 
ward stair, 
David  bar» 
her  way. 

*C. 


DRUS.1 

Strike  me  then,  if  you  will ! 2    You'll  be  reasonable  ?     » David  draws 

— very  well !    Listen  to  reason  then !    You  gave  me       DTUS^'C. 

life — you  gave  me  health  and  strength  and  beauty ! 

You  brought  me  up  as  you  thought  best — But  your 

mean,  narrow  life  stifled  me,  crushed  me!    I  couldn't 

breathe  in  it !    I  wanted  a  larger,  freer,  wider  life — I 

was  perishing  for  want  of  it!     I've  kept  up  a  life 

of  deception  for  five  years  to  spare  you  pain — for 

your  sake — not  for  mine!     Now  it's  over!     You 

know  me !    You  see  me  as  I  am — I  am  the  topmost 

rose  on  the  topmost  branch  and  I  love  the  sunshine 

— I  want  admiration — applause !    I  want  to  live  and 

live  in  every  pulse  of  me!     For  every  moment  of 

my  life — and  I  will !    I  will  be  myself !    You  cannot 

change  me !    Leave  me !    Let  me  go ! 3 

DAVID.4 

Let  thee  go !  Let  thee  go  to  destruction !  Stay — art 
thou  indeed  my  child?  No — surely  thou  art  some 
changeling — thou  art  not  the  little  golden-haired 
maiden  that  would  climb  on  my  knees,  and  throw 
her  arms  around  my  neck  on  Sunday  evenings  and 
whisper  her  prayers  in  my  ear,  while  my  prayers  and 
thanks  went  up  to  Him  who  had  given  her  to  me ! 
Oh,  if  there  is  any  of  my  blood  left  in  thee,  if  there 
was  any  faith  and  virtue  in  me  when  I  wedded  thy 
mother — if  there  was  faith  and  virtue  and  truth  in 
her — if  her  love  for  me  was  not  a  lie — own  thyself 
my  child  again !  My  heart  is  breaking  to  gather  thee 
to  me !  I  will  forgive  thee !  It  is  I,  thy  father !  I 
will  not  be  angry  with  thee  any  longer — I  will  plead 
with  thee — I  will  win  thee  back  again  to  repentance 
and  righteousness !  Come  back  with  me,  my  daugh- 
ter! 

DRUS. 

Hear  me,  father — you  and  I  live  in  a  different  world 
— all  the  old  things  have  gone — the  very  words  you 
use — righteousness,  repentance,  and  the  rest  seem 

99 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


strange  to  me!  I  have  forgotten  them — they  are 
no  longer  in  use — they  are  old-fashioned  and  out- 
worn! Do  you  hear?  You  are  mad  to  think  you 
will  change  me.  I  tell  you  the  old  life  is  gone! 
Waste  no  more  words  on  me !  It's  vain !  I  am  your 
daughter  no  longer !  Leave  me !  Leave  me  and  for- 
get me! 

DAVID. 

Forget  thee!  I  would  I  could  forget  thee!  Forget 
thee !  No — come  with  me,  my  child — I,  thy  father, 
command  thee.  Get  some  cloak  to  cover  thee !  Dost 
thou  hear?  Get  rid  of  these!  I'll  strip  thy  shame 
from  thee ! 1  I'll  leave  thee  none  of  it ! 


1  Seizing  her, 
dragging  the 
trail  of  rose* 
from  her 
skirt. 

1  Struggles, 
breaks  from 
him.  runs 
halfway  up 
steps. 

*L.C. 


Kneels. 


6  David  rushes 
off  i,.    Dru- 
silla  falls  on 
stair  and 
rolls  down. 
All  the  guests 
enter  and 
come  down- 
stairs form- 
ing tableau, 
talking. 
Drus.  rises, 
fights  her 
way  through 
them  and 
exits  L. 

«  On  gallery  L. 


DRUS.2 

Are  you  mad?  Stay  there!  If  you  come  a  step 
nearer — stop  there,  I  say !  Now,  have  you  any  more 
to  say  to  me? 

DAVID.3 

Yes — thou  hast  scorned  and  defied  me — shut  the 
gate  on  my  love  and  forgiveness.  If  that  word 
"  father  "  means  anything — if  there  is  any  reverence 
and  authority  left  in  it — may  thy  stubborn,  rebel- 
lious heart  be  broken  as  thou  hast  broken  mine — 
may  thy  beauty  wither  and  canker  thee — may  thy 
frame  be  racked4 — I,  thy  father,  pray  it — that  thy 
soul  may  be  gnawn  with  sorrow  and  despair — that 
thy  spirit  may  be  humbled  and  thy  proud  neck 
bowed  with  agony  to  the  dust — till  thou  turn  to  thy 
God  and  thy  father's  God  at  the  last!  I  have  said 
it !  It  is  my  last  word  to  thee! 8 
[Exit.} 

[DRUS.  falls  on  stairs;  and  the  guests  enter, 
and  group  round  her.  She  beats  her 
way  through  the  people  and  exit.  A 
burst  of  music,  very  loud.  GUISE  enters, 
looks  round.  Music  suddenly  stops;  a 
loud  hubbub  at  left  on  gallery.  LADY 
BAWTRY  enters,9  very  distressed.] 
100 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  III 


LADY  B.1 

Guise!  the  people  are  asking  what  has  happened. 
They  are  all  talking  about  the  scene  here!  There 
will  be  a  dreadful  scandal  to-morrow !  Half  of  them 
have  gone  off  terribly  offended. 

[Hubbub  of  departing  guests.2  Carriages 
called.3  GUISE  leans  against  staircase 
taking  no  notice  of  anything,  staring  in 
front  of  him.] 

What's  the  matter  with  you?  Can't  you  say  any- 
thing to  them?  Speak  to  them.  Say  something! 
[He  does  not  heed  her.~\ 

[LADY  B.  makes  a  gesture  of  despair  and 

comes  down-stairs.     ExitJ]  4 
[Hubbub  and  chatter  of  departing  guests.']  5 
[CHEEVERS   and  LADY   BRISLINGTON   have 
entered.6 

LADY  BRIS.     [to  CHEEVERS  who  is  helping  with  her 

cloak.'] 

I'm  sorry  I  came  here!  [With  marked  emphasis. ,] 
It  was  a  mistake. 

CHEEV.7 

Guise,  old  fellow,  this  is  very  unfortunate. 

LADY  BRIS.S 
Mr.  Cheevers,  will  you  see  if  my  carriage  is  ready? 

[CHEEV.  gives  arm,  LADY  BRIS.  passes 
GUISE  with  marked  discourtesy.  Hub- 
bub continues,  shouting  for  carnages, 
etc.  Guests  all  exeunt,  leaving  GUISE 
standing  alone  motionless.  Enter  GOLD- 
SPINK.]  9 

GOLD. 

What  time  shall  I  call  your  Grace?  [GuiSE  takes 
no  notice.']  What  time  shall  I  call  your  Grace?10 
Good  night,  your  Grace. 

[Exit** 
101 


1  On  stairs  L.  c. 


1  All  the  guests 
exeunt  L. 

1  Charlesheard 
off  L.  calling 
in  a  loud 
voice,  "  Lady 
Poperoach's 
carriage  ! 
Lady  Bald- 
win's car- 
riage !   Lady 
Bawtry's 
carriage  ! 
Lady  Bris- 
lington's  car- 
riage !  Lady 
Maitland's 
carriage  ! 
Mr.  Van- 
stone's  qar- 
riage  !     Miss 
Anstruther's 
carriage  ! 
Sir  Reginald 
Palliser's 
carriage  ! 
Sir  Henry 
Drysdale's 
carriage  !  " 


*  Cheevers  re- 
enters  on  gal- 
lery L.  with 
Lady  Bris- 
lington,  they 
descend 
stairs. 

8  On  gallery  L. 

T  Coming  down 
stairs  with 
Lady  Bris. 

•  Coming  down 
stairs  R.  c. 


•  On  gallery 
from  L. 

10  A  long  pause. 

"  Goldspink 
draws  cur- 
tains behind 
Guise  and 
exit  on  gal- 
lery L.  leav- 
ing Guise 
standing 
alone  on 
stairs. 


ACT  III 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


[Clocks  strikes  two.] 
GUISE. 

There  goes  my  knell !  Bankrupt!  Suicide!  Who'll 
find  me !  Where  will  they  bury  me  ?  The  cathedral 
or  the  cross-roads?  For  this  part  of  me  I  don't 
mind — and  for  the  other — Nirvana — nothingness! 
Heaven — hell — who  knows — who  cares!  Bank- 
rupt! Suicide!  Beggar  in  honor — in  estate — in 
friends — in  love.  I  won't  do  it  like  a  coward,  I'll 
die  game !  I've  lived  like  a  careless  fool  and  I'll  die 
like  a  careless  fool.  A  little  less  light — 

{Switches  off  electric  light.     Enter  SYBIL 
on  stairs.]  * 

Come,  Nirvana — [Takes  out  bottle.]  My  very 
good  friends,  who  have  liked  me — my  very  good 
enemies  who  have  hated  me — my  dear,  good  women 
who  haven't  loved  me,  my  dear  weak  women  who 
have — emperors,  charlatans,  pickpockets,  brother 
fools,  good  fellows  all — here's  forgetfulne.ss  and 
forgiveness  in  this  world  and  a  merry  meeting  in 
the  next!2  Good  night!  Good  night!  Good 
night !  [Raises  phial;  SYBIL  has  come  down  stairs 
behind  him,  she  draws  down  his  hand,  away  from 
the  poison. 

CURTAIN. 
[Two  years  pass  between  Acts  HI  and  IV.] 


1  On  gallery 
from  a. 


1  Sitting  on 
chair  L.  of 
table. 


102 


ACT  III. 


Door  under  Gallerv 


Door  under  Gallery 


Gallery 


Curtains  hung  from 
Gallery 


Chair 


Fire-Place 


Curtains  hung  from 
Gallery 


n 


Double  Doors 


I.  Cdtt. 

Duke  of  Chaise- 
bury. 

Sybil  Crake. 
David  Ives. 
Sister  Bea- 
trice. 


1  Seated  on 
rock  R.  o. 


Music. 


*  R.  u.  E.  cornea 
downc. 

•  L.  of  Quite. 


ACT   IV. 

THE  DESIRED  HAVEN. 

[Same  scene  as  in  Act  /.] 
[ GUISE  discovered,1  changed,  aged.fi 

GUISE. 

My  work  done !  My  promise  kept !  Only  that  one 
last  stone  to  lay.  Yes,  Endellion's  safe.  I've  done 
something  at  last.  It's  about  the  only  thing  I  have 
done.  I  don't  remember  what  else  there  is  to  go  on 
my  tombstone. 

[SYB.  enters.]  2 

SYB.S 
Thoughts  ?    Sad  or  pleasant  ? 

GUISE. 
Sadly  pleasant.    I  was  composing  my  epitaph. 

SYB.     [Quickly,  a  little  alarmed.'] 
But  you  don't  intend  to  need  one — at  present  ? 

GUISE. 

No,  Midge.  But  I  was  thinking  what  a  poor  epitaph 
mine  will  be — when  it  has  to  be  written.  "  Here  lies 
Valentine  Danecourt,  Duke  of  Guisebury.  He  lived 
at  issue  with  the  Ten  Commandments  and  died  at 
peace  with  all  men." 
104 


ACT  IV 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


lRiset. 
1  Goet  R. 


SYB. 

"  P.  S.  He  built  Endellion  breakwater."  And  then 
will  follow  the  rest  of  your  good  deeds — which  you 
haven't  done  yet. 

GUISE.1 

I  haven't  done  this — it  isn't  I  who  have  built  it.2 

SYB.S 

Yes,  it  is — not  with  your  hands,  but  with  your  head 
and  heart.  Where  would  it  have  been  in  the  gale 
last  November  if  you  hadn't  stood  by  the  men  day 
and  night  and  kept  up  their  courage?  Don't  you 
remember  how  they  were  running  away  from  it, 
and  you  stood  there  and  made  them  all  ashamed  of 
themselves?  Oh,  it  has  changed  you! 

GUISE. 

I  shall  never  be  the  same  man  that  I  was  before  my 
illness.  That  dreadful  two  months.4  You  pulled 
me  through,  Midge,  but — I'm  maimed  for  life.  Oh, 
Midge,  those  thirty-five  wasted  years. 

SYB. 

They  don't  count.  It's  your  two  well-spent  years 
that  count.  That's  life.  To  save  a  little  out  of  the 
wreck — to  show  a  balance  on  the  right  side.  That's 
life. 

GUISE. 

Midge,  sometimes  you  make  me  feel  almost  good. 

SYB. 
But  you  are  good — didn't  you  know  that  ? 

GUISE. 
Am  I  ?  I  don't  go  to  church  very  often. 

SYB. 

Yes,  you  do — in  your  way. 

105 


•  Coming  to  her 
and  taking 
her  hand. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  I"V 


1  Sitting  on 
rock  R.  c. 


•  Rites. 


•  Crossing  R. 


GUISE.1 

And  I  don't  believe  in  much. 

SYB. 

Yes,  you  do.  You  believe  in  work,  and  you  believe 
in  all  the  great  things  that  people  call  by  different 
names. 

GUISE. 
What  things  ? 

SYB. 

The  things  that  all  our  wise  people  pretend  to  be 
quarrelling  about.  But  they're  only  quarrelling  about 
words — they  all  believe  in  the  things. 

GUISE. 
What  things  do  you  mean  ? 

SYB. 

Why,  all  the  watchwords  and  passwords — Faith, 
Duty,  Love,  Conscience,  God.  Nobody  can  help  be- 
lieving them.  Turn  them  out  at  the  door,  they  only 
fly  in  at  the  window — trample  them  into  the  ground, 
they  spring  up  again  stronger  than  ever.  Prove 
them  falsehoods  in  Greek  and  Latin,  and  you  only 
find  that  they  are  the  first  truths  that  the  mother 
tells  to  her  baby. 

[  GUISE  nods.'] 

GUISE.2 

Midge,  what  would  you  have  done  if  you  had  been 
too  late  that  night — if  I  had  done  it? 

SYB. 

Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  think  I  should  have  come  after 
you,  and  snatched  you  back  somehow. 

GUISE.     [Startled,  takes  her  hands.] 
Midge,  is  it  too  late  to  pick  up  the  pieces  ? 

SYB.3 

Hush! 

106 


ACT  IV 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


[DAVID  IVES,  much  older,  in  deep  mourning, 

enters    from    house*      As    he    passes     *    comes  to*. 
GUISE  the  two  men  look  at  each  other 
for    a    moment,    but    make    no    sign. 
DAVID  turns  and  goes  on  sternly.] 

GUISE.2 

You've  not  spoken  to  me  since  I've  been  in  the 
island.  Can't  you  forget  the  past? 

DAVID.    [Calmly,  without  resentment]. 
I'm  in  mourning  for  my  daughter  Drusilla.3 

[GUISE  exits  with  great  despair*     SYBIL 
hops  up  to  DAVID.]  5 

SYB.« 

There's  a  certain  little  passage,  Mr.  Ives,  you  know 
the  passage  I  mean — something  about  forgiveness — 
you've  said  it  every  night  and  morning  for  fifty 
years — if  I  were  you,  Mr.  Ives,  when  you  say  that 
little  passage  to-night,  I  should  ask  myself  what  it 
means.  [Hops  off.]  7 

DAVID.    [Looking  after  her.] 

Perhaps  you're  right — who  knows?  It  is  in  Thy 
hands ! 

[Exit.6     Enter  up   from   path   by   beach9 
a  Sister  of  Mercy,  Sister  Beatrice.] 

SISTER  B.10 
Can  you  tell  me  which  is  Mr.  David  Ives'  house? 

DAVID.11 

I  am  David  Ives. 

SISTER  B.12 

I  am  Sister  Beatrice  who  wrote  you  eight  months 
ago  from  New  Orleans. 

DAVID. 

Concerning  the  death  of  my  daughter  Drusilla.    It 

107 


•L.  c. 


8  Goes  up  to  R 
c.  stands 
looking  over 
cliff. 

*  L.  D.  E. 

'L.  ofhim. 


II.  Call. 
Faith  Ives. 
John  Christi- 
son. 

Reginald 
Slingsby. 
Mr.  Crake. 


»L. 

Music  No.  16. 


^Coming  down 
c. 


"  R.  c. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  IV 


was  thou  who  nursed  her.  [Shakes  hands,  a  pause.] 
Did  she  repent? 

SISTER  B. 

She  died  in  peace,  and  received  pardon  from  the 
Church. 

DAVID. 

Tell  me — what  was  her  manner  of  life  before — be- 
fore she  died?  I  saw  in  a  newspaper  that  she  was 
dancing  in  public  in  New  Orleans.  Was  it  so  ? 

SISTER  B. 

You  have  forgiven  her.  She  is  dead.  Don't  ask  any 
more. 

DAVID. 

Nay,  but  I  will  know.  Tell  me  the  truth.  Hide 
nothing — the  truth — the  whole  truth.  She  was 
dancing — how  long  before  she  died  ? 

SISTER  B. 
She  was  dancing  on  the 

DAVID. 
Go  on. 

SISTER  B. 

On  the  Sunday  night. 

DAVID. 
And  died — when? 

SISTER  B. 

The  Wednesday  morning. 

[DAVID  utters  a  great  cry  of  pain  and  sinks 
onto  rock  overcome."]  l 

Be  comforted.     Heaven  is  full  of  forgiveness. 

[DAVID  after  a  pause,  rises  as  if  half -dazed, 
speaks  in  a  quiet,  hoarse,  indifferent 
tone.] 

DAVID. 

You  have  some  things  of  hers.    Where  are  they  ? 
1 08 


ACT  IV 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


1  R.  at  back. 


1  From  house  L. 


1  Supporting 

Faith. 


SISTER  B. 
In  the  sailing  boat  that  brought  me  over. 

DAVID. 

If  you'll  show  me  where  they  are,  I'll  bring  them  up. 
[Exit  SISTER  B.  down  cliff, ,]  l 

Dancing  before  all  the  city  one  Sunday  night — in 
her  grave  the  next.  [Exit  down  cliff  after  SISTER 
B.] 

[Enter  FAITH  and  JOHN.]  2 

JOHN.3 

Take  care,  dear  one,  thou  must  not  tax  thy  strength. 

FAITH. 

But  I  am  well-nigh  recovered.  I  do  not  need  to  lean 
on  you. 

JOHN. 

Yet  do  it — if  not  from  need,  lean  on  me  from  love. 

FAITH. 

It  is  sweet  to  breathe  the  air  again.  Why  dost  thou 
look  at  me  with  such  a  strange,  new  tenderness? 

JOHN. 
Because  thou  art  so  strangely  dear  to  me. 

FAITH. 
Dost  thou  love  me  more  than  when  I  wedded  thee? 


JOHN. 

Indeed  I  do.  When  I  told  thee  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened to  me  in  London  and  thou  didst  forgive  me 
all  my  shameful  past,  I  thought  I  could  not  love 
thee  more.  Oh,  Faith,  I  do  not  deserve  such  happi- 
ness as  thou  hast  given  me ! 

FAITH.     [Suddenly.'] 

Hush!  [Listening  towards  the  cottage  door.] 
Dost  thou  not  hear  ? 

109 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  IV 


JOHN. 
No,  there's  nothing. 

FAITH.     [Nodding.] 

Yes.  My  ears  are  quicker  than  thine.  [Exit  into 
cottage.]  1 

JOHN.     [Looking  after  her.] 

How  could  I  ever  stray  from  thee?  Thou  hast 
brought  me  home.2 

[Enter  from  cliff  above,  REGY  and  CRAKE.]  3 

CRAKE.* 

Ah,  Mr.  Christison,  so  we  shall  get  this  last  stone 
laid  to-morrow  ? 

JOHN.5 

Yes,  the  Duke  has  been  kind  enough  to  put  off  lay- 
ing the  last  stone  till  my  wife  could  be  there.  And 
it's  to  be  to-morrow. 


*  Leaning 
againtt 
porch. 

»  L.  3  *. 


•L. 


'L. 


Coming  up  to 
L.  of  Crake. 


REGY.8 

That's  a  comfort.  I  promised  poor  old  Guise  I'd 
wait  till  it  was  over.  Now  I  can  toddle  back  to 
town  on  Tuesday.  London's  good  enough  for  me. 

CRAKE.     [Looking  down  over  cliff  below.]  7 

Look,  that  boat  has  come  round  the  corner  now — 
she's  making  for  the  breakwater. 

JOHN.8 

A  boat  to-day !    Where  does  she  come  from  ? 

CRAKE. 

There's  a  large  sailing  vessel  standing  off  the  point, 
and  the  boat  got  off  from  her  about  half  an  hour 
ago. 

JOHN. 

Put  in  for  water,  I  suppose.    They're  calling  to  the 
men  on  shore.     There's  quite  a  crowd  gathering. 
All  the  folks  are  coming  out  of  their  houses.    Look, 
no 


ACT  IV 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


they're  all  running  to  the  breakwater, 
be?     [Exit  hurriedly  down  cliff.']  1 


What  can  it 


REGY. 
Come  back  with  me  to  town  on  Tuesday,  Crake? 

CRAKE.2 

No,  I  must  stay  on  with  the  Duke. 
REGY. 


He's 


very  glad  he's  got  you  back 
CRAKE. 


again. 


Ah,  I  ought  never  to  have  left  him.  It  was  a  shabby 
thing  to  do — And  though  I  was  making  a  good 
thing  out  of  the  Chichester  property,  I  was  very 
glad  to  throw  it  up  and  come  back  to  Guisebury. 

REGY. 

Poor  old  Guise.  Fancy  his  sticking  down  here  for 
two  years.  Look  at  the  place.  It's  bad  enough  on 
a  week  day.  Look  at  it  on  a  Sunday  afternoon. 
What  was  it  made  for  ? 

CRAKE. 

Well,  why  did  you  come  here  ? 
REGY. 

I'm  a  little  bit  goey  on  the  chest,  and  I've  done 
Monte  Carlo  till  I'm  sick  of  it.  My  doctor  happened 
to  mention  Penzance,  and  so,  as  old  Guise  was  down 
here,  I  thought,  like  a  fool,  I'd  come  and  give  him  a 
look  up.  Well,  I  came  and  when  I'd  been  here  ten 
minutes,  I  sat  down  on  the  top  of  a  rock,  and  I  sol- 
emnly asked  myself  this  question,  "  What  am  I  here 
for?  Why  did  I  give  up  my  club,  and  my  decent 
cooking,  and  my  snug  little  rooms  in  the  Albany  to 
come  down  to  this  benighted  spot  and  play  Robinson 
Crusoe  for  the  benefit  of  the  sea-gulls?  "  What  am 
I  doing  it  for,  Crake,  eh  ? 

in 


1  Coming  down 
C. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  IV 


CRAKE. 
Just  so.    What  are  you? 

REGY.     [Confidentially.] 
I  say,  Crake,  sometimes  I  can't  understand  myself. 

CRAKE. 
No?    What  is  there  in  your  character  that  puzzles 


HI.  Call. 
Duke  of  Guise- 
bury. 

David  Ive8. 
Mrs.  Christi- 
son. 
Sybil  Crake. 


you 


REGY. 


I've  knocked  about  the  world  all  my  life — been 
everywhere — seen  everything — done  everything. 
You'd  call  me  a  pretty  smart,  wide-awake  fellow, 
wouldn't  you,  Crake  ? 

CRAKE.     [Dubiously.] 
Ye-es. 

REGY. 

There's  nothing  of  the  fool  about  me,  is  there? 

CRAKE. 
Not  at  all. 

REGY. 

Then  why  do  I  keep  on  acting  like  a  fool  ?  Why  do 
I  go  and  land  myself  in  one  infernal  scrape  after  an- 
other ? 

CRAKE. 

Ah,  just  so.    Why  do  you? 

REGY.     [Very  confidentially.] 

Sometimes,  Crake,  I  fancy  I'm  more  of  a  fool,  than 
anybody  suspects.  I  let  Lady  Poperoach  twist  me 
round  her  finger. 

CRAKE. 

But  you  were  clever  enough  to  get  out  of  that  in 
the  end. 

REGY. 

Yes,  because  they  caught  Jack  Percival.    You  don't 

112 


ACT  IV 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  i 


marry  his  cook  ? 
to  the  cook. 


Oh,  it's  of  no  consequence — except 

{Enter  GUISE.]  4 

Well,  Duke,  you  may  congratulate  yourself — Endel- 
lion  will  turn  out  a  splendid  property  after  all.  It's 
lucky  the  harbor  was  built  just  in  time  to  develop 
the  trade  of  the  island. 

8  113 


Taking  out 
letter. 


think  Lady  Poperoach  would  let  me  walk  out  of  the 
trap  unless  she  was  sure  Jack  would  walk  in — not 
likely.  Poor  Jack ! 

CRAKE. 

Hasn't  the  marriage  between  Mr.  Percival  and  Miss 
Poperoach  turned  out  quite — quite 

REGY.     [Chuckles.] 

Yes — quite.  I  had  a  letter  from  Jack  the  other 
day.1  Three  weeks  ago  Lady  Poperoach  took  away 
his  latch-key,  and  deliberately  dropped  it  over  the 
bridge  into  the  Serpentine  in  Jack's  presence. 

[Pulls  out  his  own  latch-key,  gazes  at  it  very 
affectionately,  puts  it  back  in  waistcoat 
pocket,  chuckles,  reads  letter.'} 

"  Lady  Poperoach  unfortunately  discovered  Jack's 
rare  collection  of  antique  prints.  She  burnt  the 
whole  collection." 

[Shakes  hands  cordially  with  himself.] 

I  can't  be  so  very  much  of  a  fool  after  all,  Crake,  for 
I'm  nearly  forty  and  I've  kept  out  of  it  till  now. 
Poor  old  Jack !  Stole  his  latch-key !  Shake  hands, 
Regy,  dear  old  boy. 

[Shakes  hands  with  himself.] 

Well,  Crake,  I've  enjoyed  my  chat  with  you.  What 
the  deuce  to  do  with  myself  before  dinner !  [Exit.]  2 

CRAKE.     [Looking  after  him.]  3 
If  he  lives  till  he's  seventy  I  wonder  whether  he'll 


•R.  u.  E. 


•B. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  IV 


IL.C. 


a  B.  o. 


3  R    1  E. 


•  Goes  to  a.,  c., 
sits  on  rock. 

*  L.  3  B. 


GUISE.1 

Sybil  always  said  it  would.  Crake,  who  was  fool 
enough  to  advance  the  money  ? 

CRAKE.2 

What  does  it  matter?  It  was  a  capital  investment 
for  him. 

GUISE. 
Who  was  it? 

CRAKE.      [Uneasy.] 

Well,  Duke,  I'd  saved  a  considerable  sum  in  your 
service,  and  after  I'd  left  you,  I  felt  ashamed  of  it, 
and  when  Sybil  came  to  me  and  said  she  wanted  the 
money  I'd  saved  for  her,  to  invest,  I  found  that  I 
could  manage  to  raise  enough  to  begin  the  break- 
water, and  as  it  was  going  on  well,  I've  had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  getting  the  remainder. 

GUISE.     [Shakes  his  head.] 

You're  a  thoroughly  bad,  unnatural  father,  Crake, 
to  risk  her  money  on  such  a  worthless  fellow  as  I. 
How  can  I  thank  you,  Crake? 

CRAKE. 

Virtue  is  its  own  reward,  Duke.  Virtue  and  five 
per  cent. 

[Exit.]  3 

GUISE. 

Yes,  she  was  right.  Everybody  begins  to  respect 
me.  I  used  to  stand  in  such  horror  of  being  re- 
spected. It's  rather  a  comfortable  feeling  after  all.4 

[DAVID  enters.]  5 
DAVID. 

He's  there!  Shall  I  give  it  to  him  myself?  No, 
I've  no  dealings  with  him.  [Goes  towards  house, 
then  repeats  SYB'S  words.]  There's  a  certain  little 
passage,  Mr.  Ives,  something  about  forgiveness." 
114 


ACT  IV 


SC.  I 


1  Guise  rises. 


[Stops,  turns,  goes  up  to  GUISE.]  I've  something 
for  you.1  They've  brought  me  back  the  things  that 
belonged  to  her.  I  dare  not  bring  them  to  my 
house  till  I  have  made  way  with  all  the  tokens  of  her 
occupation — dancing  dresses  and  the  like.  When 
I  was  looking  them  through  I  found  this  letter — it's 
meant  for  you — you  see  she  begun  it  and  never 
finished  it.  [GuiSE  takes  it,  reads  it,~\  Is  there 
anything  in  it  that  concerns  me? 


GUISE. 

Read  it.    [Gives  it  to  DAVID;  DAVID  reads  it;  shows 
emotion.] 

DAVID. 

You  offered  to  make  her  your  wife? 


Yes. 


She  refused  you? 

Yes. 

You  loved  her? 

Yes. 


GUISE. 


DAVID. 
GUISE. 


DAVID. 


GUISE. 


[DAVID  offers  his  hand;  a  silent  handshake 
between  the  two  men;  DAVID  goes  into 
house.'}  2 

He  forgives  me !  If  I  could  forgive  myself.  If  I 
could  once  pass  those  little  homes  down  there  with- 
out remembering  that  my  broken  word  robbed  each 
of  them  of  a  husband,  or  a  father ! 

[MRS.  CHRISTISON  creeps  on  in  the  dusk.]  3 

MRS.  C.4 

Your  Grace,  they're  all  come  back  from  the  dead — 
but  my  Mark  is  not  with  them. 


»L.SB. 


SC.  I 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


ACT  IV 


»B.C. 


»  Cheers  in  dis- 
tance. 


•L.SK. 


4  Distant 
cheering  off 
L.  Mrs.  Chris- 
tison  goes  up 
looks  over 
cliff  and  exit 

R.  3E. 


•  L.  of  him. 


Poor  thing! 


GUISE.  ] 


MRS.  C. 


They're  all  so  old,  so  changed.  You  wouldn't  know 
them. 

GUISE. 

Yes,  yes,  you  must  expect  them  to  be  changed. 
[Soothingly.] 

MRS.  C. 

But  why  hasn't  my  Mark  come  back  with  them? 
There  are  all  his  old  friends,  Stephen  and  Captain 
Leddra 


Go  away! 
some    day !      There ! 


GUISE.    [Startled.] 

What!     Don't  speak  of  them.     There! 
You'll    meet    your    husband 
Don't  say  any  more. 

MRS.  C. 

But  all  the  island  is  rejoicing.2  They  were  all  like 
you.  They  wouldn't  believe  it  at  first.  Nobody 
knew  Capt.  Leddra — his  wife  didn't  know  him,  but 
when  she  saw  that  it  was  himself  indeed,  she 
screamed  for  joy  and  hung  about  his  neck. 

[SYBIL  enters.]  3 

GUISE. 

Woman!  Be  silent!  Don't  bring  your  mad  tales 
here.  Ah — my  poor  woman — your  husband  will 
come  back  some  day.4  [To  SYB.]  Shall  I  never 
forget  it!  Shall  I  always  be  reminded  of  it!  It's 
no  use,  Midge.  I'm  chained  to  look  always  back- 
wards. But  I  cannot  reach  one  hand  or  move  one 
step  to  change  the  past.  [Sinks  upon  rock  in  de- 
spair. Distant  cheering  from  the  beach  below.] 

SYB.     [Creeps  up  to  him.]  5 

The  woman's  tale  is  not  so  impossible  after  all. 
116 


ACT  IV 


THE  DANCING  GIRL 


sc.  I 


1  Coming  on 
his  L.,  sits  on 
rock. 


1  Goea  to  bock, 
looks  over. 


Others  have  returned  before — it  is  just  possible  that 
they  may  have  escaped. 

GUISE. 

No !  No !  I've  gone  through  it  thousands  of  times 
— Besides  the  ship  was  broken  up — the  fragments 
were  found. 

SYB.1 

But  if  they  had  reached  home  after  all ! 

GUISE. 
Midge!     [Looks  at  her.]     My  God!     It's  true!2 

SYB.     [Pointing  to  the  beach  below.] 
Look! 

[A  bell  rings  loudly  from  below.] 

GUISE. 
Are  they  all  saved? 

SYB. 
All  the  Endellion  men — all  are  safe. 

GUISE. 
All!   All!    [Bursts  into  tears.]  3 

SYB.     [Touches  him;  he  turnsJf 
So  He  bringeth  them  to  their  desired  haven. 

GUISE. 
And  me — to  my  desired  haven. 

SYB. 

Listen'! 

([Faint  cheers^] 


CURTAIN. 


*  Sinks  on  rock 
up  stage,  fac- 
ing R.    Bell 
leaves  off ; 
cheering. 


Music  swells. 


117 


LIGHTING  PLOT. 

ACT  I. 

Open  White.  Pole  ambers  from  Perches.  Blue  Box  limes 
on  sea  cloth,  ist  Cue— Check  battens  and  floats,  change  Perches 
to  dark  ambers  gradually.  White  limes  behind  transparency 
gradually  to  full.  (The  Blue  limes  on  back  cloth  remain.) 

ACT  II. 

Open  full  White.  Red  lime  at  fireplace,  ist  Cue— Check 
White  gradually  a  little.  Focus  red  lime  on  Guisebury  at  end 
of  Act.  Other  lights  remain. 

ACT  III. 

Open  full  White.     Chandelier  full.     Amber  limes  Perches. 

ist  Cue — As  curtains  are  being  closed  check  lights  at  backr 
and  gradually  check  floats  to  half.  Amber  limes  from  Perches 
focussed  on  Guisebury. 

2nd  Cue — Chandelier  out,  floats,  battens  and  lengths,  all  out 
at  (switch.) 

Pale  blue  and  focus  limes  Perches  onGuisebury  for  end  of  Act. 

ACT  IV. 

Sunset. 

Dark  amber  limes,  floats  and  battens  half  up.  Light  behind 
transparency. 

PROPERTY  PLOT. 

ACT  I. 

Nil. 

ACT  II.    DRAWING-ROOM. 

Curtains  at  window,  carpet  down.  Table  and  two  chairs  in 
inner  room.  Curtains  at  C.  opening,  cabinet  L,.  R.  Small  table 
I*  C.  with  bowl  on  same.  Brandy  decanter  and  glasses  on 
cabinet  L.  Couch  L.  with  curtains  and  drapery.  Small  foot- 
stool by  same.  I/arge  table  R.  C.,  chairs  either  side,  writing 
materials  and  cheque-book  on  same.  Rug  at  fireplace  R.  Fen- 
dor  and  fire-irons,  clock  and  ornaments  on  mantle,  chairs  and 
usual  dressings  to  scene. 

118 


THE  DANCING  GIRL  119 

ACT  III. 

Plush  carpet  down.  Cabinet  R.  I,.  Curtains  to  all  openings 
practicable.  Table  L.  with  chair.  Writing  materials,  large 
couch  R.,  cushions,  small  phial  for  Guisebury,  chandelier,  coffee 
on  salver  off  R.  Liqueur  decanter  and  glasses.  Spirit-lamp, 
and  matches  on  same.  Cigarettes.  Ash  tray.  Two  written 
letters  on  table  L,. 

ACT  IV. 
Repeat  ACT  L 


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